


Happiness is Not a Place

by sokkattome



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pirates, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Canon Rewrite, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Suki/Yue, F/F, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Homophobia, Influenced by The Art of Burning by hella1975, Lesbian Azula (Avatar), M/M, Poetry, Slow Burn, Yue (Avatar) Lives, Zuko (Avatar) Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sokkattome/pseuds/sokkattome
Summary: “'What is that?' Sokka said, curiosity getting the better of his pettiness as he took a step to stand in front of Zuko. Zuko stepped back, away from Sokka. Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much of anywhere to go, so he stumbled and fell square on his ass into the bin he’d just searched. The sides of the bin folded him in half, rendering him helpless and also quite transportable: Sokka could just pick him up and carry him about the tiny room. Staring straight ahead from beneath the ponytail that had fallen over his eyes during the tumble, Zuko held up the lump like a holy grail.'It’s a potato.'”———————Or: A Zukka Pirate AUinspired by this artandinfluenced by The Art of Burning by hella 1975(schedule updates/extra info on my tumblr)Edit: it has come to my attention there were not lines to mark a change in POV. I guess they don’t paste from docs anymore, so I have added them manually.
Relationships: Aang & Katara (Avatar), Azula & Sokka (Avatar), Azula & Ty Lee (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Azula/Ty Lee (Avatar), Katara & Yue (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 164





	1. I Don’t Wanna Be Here, No

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Art of Burning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736617) by [hella1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hella1975/pseuds/hella1975). 



It could have been anything.

A trick of the light, an angry spirit, a firework (although Fire Nation delicacies were rarely found outside the mainland—a truth Zuko had been forced to accept, though at times he thought of the theater and could almost taste the fireflakes sizzling on his tongue)—even a flare; only the Southern Water Tribe would hate the Fire Nation enough to make a bright  _ blue _ flare. Zuko almost missed it entirely against the endless white surrounding them. It was pure chance his good eye happened to be facing it (these days, he couldn’t trust Uncle to fill him in if he’d missed it).

It could have been anything, but it wasn’t anything: it was the Avatar. It  _ had  _ to be. Zuko was sure. He was sure, because the Southern Water Tribe was the only place in the four nations he  _ hadn’t  _ scoured three times over. He hadn’t even scoured it  _ once _ ; his first and only visit to the South Pole had not been productive.

It wasn’t a surprise the Avatar was hiding in the one place Zuko had refused to return to for so long. Anything else would be unnatural: Zuko was not  _ meant _ to be lucky. He was meant to work and train to the end of his days, to come up short every time. He’d learned that long ago—he’d been taught that lesson over and over, beginning at his birth (and subsequent near-death) to his first Agni-Kai (and subsequent near-death).

“Change course! We’re following that flare!” Zuko hollered, and his crew reluctantly complied around him. After three years, they’d given up on retaliation (for the most part), and Zuko had adjusted his sharp tone slightly (although he would never admit it). By no means did they like each other, but they had a mutual--if grudging--respect. Or, more accurately, the crew stopped outright disobeying Zuko when he was in sight, opting instead to disregard his command while he was meditating (the only time he was below deck) like a normal crew. 

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh’s voice berated, carrying just as far as Zuko’s shouting in the acoustic paradise (or perhaps nightmare, depending on who was playing the tsungi horn that night) that was a metal ship in the middle of the ocean, “that flare could have been anything. You’ll remember the Southern Water Tribe is in that area.”

It could have been anything. But it  _ wasn’t _ ; he  _ knew _ it wasn’t. It couldn’t be nothing, because the spirits would love nothing more than to force Zuko back to the Southern Water Tribe. 

Azula would have no issue going back.  _ Azula _ had no issue acting the way she was supposed to; she never had. So Zuko wouldn’t either.

Zuko grit his teeth. “I remember, Uncle.”

Iroh shrugged and sat down to enjoy his freshly brewed tea. 

“If nothing else, we’ll see old friends. That would be fun, no?”

Zuko said nothing, staring resolutely in the empty air where the flare had been, the light imprint in his eye perfectly lining up with the location of its cause. His helmsman had already rerouted, but he couldn’t help the anxiety that gnawed at his stomach: they had to go straight to the source, and he couldn’t afford any accidental detours. Especially not here.

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh commanded, and Zuko knew what he’d say next. He tore his eyes away from the sky (immediately regretting losing the exact position of the flare) and turned back to his uncle, moving into the proper firebending stance just as Iroh said, “Again.”

____________________

Katara couldn’t bring herself to regret stepping onto that old Fire Nation ship, despite the (extremely conspicuous) consequences. She just discovered the another bender—the first she’d ever met, and the  _ Avatar _ —and suddenly she  _ belonged  _ somewhere. Katara loved her tribe—and she’d protect them to her last breath—but they were all nonbenders. In their first hour of knowing each other, the Avatar had already taught her to be braver. Aang was like  _ her _ , and she wasn’t going to let that connection go without a fight.

“ _ Katara _ ,” Sokka pleaded, his dark blue eyes nearly hidden entirely in the distressed scrunch of his face, “he’s reckless. He  _ set off a flare _ . We can’t afford that now, not with Dad gone.”

By Dad, Sokka, of course, meant their father  _ and _ the rest of the warriors. The rest of the  _ men _ , because apparently women were only good for fertilization and childcare. Unfortunately for Katara’s case, this meant none of the women were trained warriors, leaving her waterbending (however rudimentary) and Sokka’s fragile masculinity as the main defenders of the tribe. 

It’s not like anyone bothered with the Southern Water Tribe, anyway. Katara hadn’t seen a soul outside of her tribe in three years. 

Until now.

“If he’s going, I’m going too.” Katara’s voice was firm, projecting enough stubborn confidence to quiet the mosquito-bees in her stomach. She wasn’t  _ actually  _ going to leave.

The credibility of the statement didn’t matter, though, because it had the intended effect: Sokka, Aang, Gran-Gran, and the onlookers all dropped their jaws in unison. Sokka even let out a betrayed gasp (dramatics were his nature). 

“Hey, I don’t want to get in between you and your family, Katara,” Aang began, but he was drowned out by Sokka’s indignant screeching.

“You would leave your family—your  _ tribe _ —for a kid you met in an iceberg a couple hours ago?” Sokka’s face had un-scrunched and his shock-widened blue irises were very visible now, along with the inside of his slack-jawed mouth. Before Katara got a chance to rebut, Aang cut in again, this time with slightly more authority (enough that his voice wasn’t buried under Sokka’s, at least).

“I’m leaving,” he sounded regretful but resolute, and he directed his next words to Katara: “Family is important. I won’t come between yours.” His round, soulful grey eyes were filled with remorse, and Katara remembered how he’d found himself in this century, and what he’d lost on the way. She felt a pang of guilt. She wasn’t going to leave, of course not—but Aang hadn’t known that. To him, she was just taking her tribe and her home for granted. Unable to speak (a rare state for Katara), she merely nodded. Sokka came up behind her and placed a protective arm over her shoulder, as if she would float up onto Aang’s sky bison if he didn’t ground her. 

“Yip yip!” The young airbender called, but the bison was earth-bound as ever. Sokka let out a snort, cut short by her elbow. Sokka shot her a look but said nothing (maybe he was finally reading the room for once in his life). Aang sighed and urged the huge animal forward and the pair lumbered away, slowly fading into a haze of white.

Katara, Sokka, and the rest of the tribe looked on in silence as they left. They didn’t get far, though, before another large figure could be spotted in the distance. 

As this figure grew closer, however, it became abundantly clear it wasn’t another sky bison, or even a very lost polar bear-dog. 

A ship was quickly approaching, and flying proudly on its mast was an insignia Katara had only seen in battered textbooks.

What was an Earth Kingdom ship doing in the South Pole?

____________________

Bao had spotted the flare first. Lim would claim it was due to his habit of “staring dramatically into the horizon,” and he wouldn’t be wrong: Bao wanted to soak up as much of the South Pole’s horizon before they headed back north.

It started with tailing a shrimpy Fire Nation ship. It was metal and emitting a continual stream of their signature black ash just like all the rest, but the ship was considerably smaller and lacked any sort of distinctive design. It didn’t even look painted. Qiang had thought they could get some valuable information on the war—”valuable” meaning selling for a high price—or, at the very least, an easy target (though what goods were on the dinky little ship, Bao couldn’t say). He’d taken it a bit too far, in Bao’s opinion (and in the opinion of the rest of the crew), when he’d insisted on following the ship to the  _ South Pole _ , but Bao wasn’t going to complain about the view. He hadn’t even mentioned the cold, though the rest of the crew—including Qiang at times—hadn’t hesitated to voice their grievances. Qiang claimed if the Fire Nation ship was going to the South Pole, it must be doing something noteworthy; based on the extremely  _ unnoteworthy  _ activities they’d witnessed the Fire Nation crew do, Bao wasn’t so sure. So far, the ship had simply meandered around, stopping at every port but never doing anything of importance with their time there.

As soon as the flare went off, the metal ship let out a horrible creak as it turned to the source (really, Bao had never seen a Fire Nation ship in anything less than pristine condition, but this one looked like—and  _ sounded like _ —it may sink any moment). The ship, though smaller than most (all, other than the small rowboats villagers used on the mainland) Fire Nation ships, was still larger than the  _ Wangjile _ . Large enough that they had to maneuver around a glacier, while the  _ Wangjile  _ could head through a passage in the middle of it. 

“Change course, Shui,” Qiang commanded their helmsman, “let’s check out the light before out friends.”

Qiang may be determined to a fault (and in this case, had arguably reached that fault when they ended up in the  _ South Pole _ ), but he can recognize a bigger prize when he sees one. The Southern Water Tribe has been inactive for years; the raids dwindled their numbers so drastically the only proof they had of their continued existence was the crew of Southern Water Tribe men working with the Earth Kingdom navy—the navy whose flag flew from the mast, a reliable camouflage in their usual sea-haunts, but the stark green sticking out like a sore thumb in the tundra. Bao was, for the first and only time, grateful their ship was so small. In a bigger ship, they would’ve been spotted much sooner: dinky or not, all Fire Nation ships were stocked with explosives that would down their wooden ship in minutes.

There was hardly anyone left in the South Pole: that flare wasn’t a cry for help from tribesman to tribesman. They could whisper and it would carry miles in this wasteland (unless the wind was going—then you couldn’t hear the adjacent person if they screamed). No, an inter-tribe issue would be incredibly unlikely to merit a flare. Not to mention the considerable lack of trade between the Southern Water Tribe and any other nation, which would be necessary to obtain any explosive technology. Something big was happening in the Southern Water Tribe, and where there was a crisis, there was room for some good old fashioned piracy.

____________________

Aang tugged gently on Appa’s fur, and the sky (currently earth, he supposed) bison halted in its tracks. The ship coming into view was much larger and more substantial than the rotting canoes the Southern Water Tribe used. It was still significantly smaller than the ones Aang remembered; he wondered if ships had been manufactured smaller and smaller over the past century to accommodate the dwindling population. Aang wiped snow from his eyes to see a vaguely familiar flag flying on its mast—similar to the flags Aang had seen around in the Earth Kingdom when he was visiting Bumi, but this flag was much more imposing. The soft green and gray had been saturated to a sharp deep green and black, the insignia’s edges just a little bit sharper. Customarily, an Earth Kingdom flag would be accompanied by the flag of the city they hailed from, but the lower mast was bare. Yet another thing that had changed in the hundred years Aang had missed.

The snow was back in his eyes. In all his travels, he’d rarely visited the poles—was he doing it wrong? Was there a special face covering for snow, maybe a nice pair of goggles? He rubbed the incessant precipitation away, but when he brought his hand down to Appa’s fur, it wasn’t wet with snow: it was black with soot. 

He heard Katara gasp behind him. 

“Aang!” she called, voice ringing out. 

The following events happened in the span of a few seconds, but all in sequence.

First: Aang airbended off of Appa to face Katara. He’d done so without a second thought, forgetting the new meaning of the act: he’d given himself away—if his Air Nation robes hadn’t already.

Second: Another ship was approaching from the opposite direction. It was clearly Fire Nation, metal and puffing out a steady shower of soot, but much smaller than Aang remembered. Maybe ships really were just smaller now. Katara, Sokka, and the rest of the tribe had already turned their attention to the second ship. Sokka braced his spear.

Third: An calloused hand covered Aang’s mouth and another set of ice-cold fingers tugged his arms behind his back, where they were tied with a frayed rope. He tried to airbend his feet up, but another hand was planted on his shoulder, grounding him.

“Spirits, he’s just a kid,” a gruff voice muttered behind him, presumably his captor. “Do you think it could really be—”

“Either way, it’s an airbender,” a second, sharper voice interrupted. “We gotta get moving, before the rest of ‘em see.”

Large hands guided Aang around until he came face-to-face with the two men. They were clearly Earth Kingdom, as their flag indicated, but certainly not any sort of official. Their clothes were Earth Kingdom garb (finally, something that  _ hadn’t  _ changed drastically in the past century) typical for a lower-to-middle-class citizen, but their numerous rings betrayed a much higher status. The man who had yet to remove his hand where it encased Aang’s mouth was large and burly, an axe adorning his back and peeking up over his frowning face. The other man, who stood in front of him but held Aang’s arms behind the boy’s back--a rather awkward angle--was much more slender and burdened with countless shiny accessories, though the only weapon in sight was a wicked dagger hanging from his bejeweled belt.

Pirates.

The Avatar being captured by pirates was probably not ideal, but Aang being captured by pirates… He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. Would they have chests of gold below deck? Did they have a parrot-hawk? Did any of them have wooden pegs for limbs? He could already see both these men had at least one set of earrings, and that was a promising sign.

Aang could have resisted more. He probably  _ should  _ have resisted more. But isn’t that why he ran away? Why be haunted by what he  _ should  _ do, when he could milk life for all it’s worth? Aang had missed so many years already, he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to be captured by  _ pirates _ . So he complied, moving silently along in the direction the man holding the rope—the one with the sharp voice, Aang guessed, fitting for his angular frame—pushed him forward. A small rowboat sat next to the ice, floating in place, as if it was waiting for its owners. A boat this size could easily go unnoticed in the white abis, especially with the Fire Nation ship as a distraction. Aang wondered if they might be working together. It was still difficult to imagine the Fire Nation as the imperialist force Katara and Sokka described—they must be exaggerating, embellishing the story a bit; the Air Nation wasn’t dead, just scattered around the Earth Kingdom. The Fire Nation may be powerful, but they can’t wipe out an entire population of people.

The trip to the main ship was short and uneventful. The pirates weren’t even talking to  _ each other _ , and Aang kept trying and failing to catch their eye. So far, this whole kidnapped-by-pirates experience was pretty disappointing. At least the soot-rain had stopped.

___________________

Of course, the whole tribe was outside. If Zuko had any luck, he wouldn’t have to run into the Southern Water Tribe at all—or at least only a few members—but he was Zuko, so he had to work with the cards he’d been dealt. 

Zuko remembered all their names—Zuko never forgot a name, even if he didn’t like to use them—but he couldn’t see them clearly enough to identify from this distance. Would he even recognize them? Would they recognize him? Three years is a long time for a teenager, although Zuko’s been told he has a very distinctive look, even before the Agni Kai.

It didn’t matter. Zuko was here for one thing only: the Avatar. And unless his eye betrayed him (which wasn’t necessarily an  _ uncommon  _ occurrence), that orange in the distance had just airbended off of that white blob.

This was it. After three years of fruitless searching, he had finally found the Avatar.  _ The last airbender _ . He was almost  _ home _ . Away from the cold, away from the endless water (yet frequent dehydration), away from the crew… He would see Azula again. She’s even less likely to recognize him than the Water Tribe. It’d been longer, and though the tribe had never seen Zuko’s scar, they’d seen the bandage. As far as he knew, Azula hadn’t seen him since the Agni Kai. Uncle said he’d gone directly from the dueling ground to the  _ Wani _ , and Zuko had no choice but to trust him--he hadn't been conscious to witness it. 

Zuko would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered, hadn’t worried. Azula had friends—unlike Zuko—but would that be enough? Had it been? 

It was no use thinking of that thousands of miles away—not that he could’ve intervened from home, either: he was never the strong one. Would Azula still best him in everything? He wasn’t sure his firebending had even surpassed 11-year-old Azula yet, or if it ever would. His three years at sea had been dedicated to firebending (dao swords being reserved for late-night excursions only) and he was still mastering the basics.

The hum of the engine spluttered and the ship halted. 

“Why have we stopped?” The words flew out of Zuko’s mouth before he could even process what had happened. It rang out, loud and clear in the newfound quiet. His face was heating up, he could feel it, and he pushed the heat from his face down to his hands, where tiny sparks danced.

The engine operator’s face peaked out from below deck, face already soured in preparation for whatever Zuko would say next.

“Out of fuel.”

The tiny sparks burst into flames as Zuko cried out in aggravation. He was  _ so close _ .

_ In, two, three, four. _

Why were they out of fuel? Hadn’t they stocked up? 

_ Hold, two, three, four. _

They stop at every port—everyone for their own reason: Zuko to search for the Avatar or listen in on gossip about the Avatar (and to don his mask late at night), Uncle to shop, and the rest of the crew to  _ stock up on more fuel _ .

_ Out, two, three, four. _

He needed to be calm; he needed to  _ focus _ . He fixed his gaze on the horizon, hoping to gain solace from Agni.

The scene he witnessed did not give him solace.

A ship was approaching. A wooden ship. An Earth Kingdom ship.

And two dark figures were climbing onto the ship with the orange blob.

“Prince Zuko—”

“Silence,” Zuko commanded. Whether or not Zuko had the authority to silence General Iroh was irrelevant. As Zuko watched the Avatar be taken from his grasps before he was even in them, an ambivalent mixture of clarity and desperation washed over him. The foreign ship had the Avatar: he needed the Avatar. He would go on the foreign ship and retrieve the Avatar.

No interaction with the Water Tribe necessary.

“I am going to capture the Avatar,” Zuko said, keeping his eyes on the orange blob, now on the deck of the foreign ship. “Don’t follow me,” he turned to look his uncle in the eye, “don’t go after me. I will return with the Avatar or not at all.”

He expected a fight. Some protest, at least. He wasn’t sure why. 

Iroh nodded.

Honor above everything. Life, limbs, spirit—none of that mattered when honor was at stake.

The crew members averted their eyes.

If Iroh didn’t have anything to say, Zuko wasn’t going to waste any more time. He pushed past the engine operator—who had not moved after delivering his report—and headed to fetch his swords.

Zuko’s room was not the largest on the ship. It wasn’t the smallest but, after Iroh’s, they were all roughly the same size. He didn’t need the space, and he didn’t deserve it. A prince got a spacious room: Zuko wasn’t a prince anymore. Not yet.

The room was sparsely decorated—partially because of the lack of space for decorations, but mainly because Zuko preferred an uncluttered space to meditate (which was all what he used the room for—most of the night was spent practicing with his dao blades or going out to cause trouble with his dao blades). The only thing in the room, other than his bed and set of drawers, was his dao, hanging on the wall. Refusing to spare the room a second glance, Zuko retrieved the dao from the wall and the mask from the dresser.

The lack of sentiment meant he could take his few items and leave in peace: there was nothing of his here. He had nothing to leave behind.

____________________

The impending Earth Kingdom ship was one thing.

The impending  _ Fire Nation  _ ship was another.

Sokka could not fathom why the Earth Kingdom navy might be in the South Pole. Well, that small voice in the back of his head could—his father and crew had all died and they were delivering the news and whatever body parts they recovered, they were coming to draft the Southern Water Tribe’s last man (Sokka, of course—he was 15 now, that counted as a man), they were protecting them from the  _ Fire Nation ship _ approaching from the opposite direction—but he silenced that voice quickly enough. There was no use contemplating what was already done. Even if he didn’t know what that was.

The Fire Nation ship, though: that he knew.

They were here for Katara.

Somehow, they’d figured out there was a waterbender left in the Southern Water Tribe. They were so isolated, Sokka wasn’t sure how they could know—unless someone in their tribe had betrayed them. It was difficult to imagine one of these women—or perhaps one of the men abroad—would give up one of their own. And for what? Some money? Protection? What took priority over the tribe? Over  _ Katara _ , their last waterbender?

It didn’t matter now. It  _ would _ matter, but not today. Today, he just had to keep Katara from the clutches of the Fire Nation. He’d promised to look after his little sister, and he was a man of his word.

Sokka tightened his grip on the makeshift spear he was holding; it was for hunting, but it would do for some ashmakers. He dropped the arm holding Katara and used it to push her behind him.

“Go inside, Katara,” he ordered, trying to dispel the shakiness from his voice.

“What? No. I need to protect Aang.” Katara was resolute, as stubborn as ever.

“They’re not here for Aang,” Sokka said, exasperated, but keeping his eyes trained on the ship ahead, “They’re here for  _ you _ . Why would they know about the last airbender? They’ve come for the Southern Water Tribe’s last waterbender.”

Katara was silent for a moment. She still wasn’t moving.

“How would they know about me?” she asked softly, a heavy contrast to her previous tone.

“I don’t know,” Sokka hissed, and it wasn’t a lie. Theory wasn’t  _ knowing _ .

“I’m not going inside,” Katara decided, and continued before Sokka could protest, “but I won’t waterbend.”

“Katara, this morning you  _ accidentally  _ waterbent an  _ iceberg _ . You don’t know—”

“Sokka, look!” Katara cut him off, tugging urgently on his sleeve. He eyed the (now stationary… when had they stopped moving?) Fire Nation ship another moment before sparing a glance behind him.

Where Aang was being escorted onto the Earth Kingdom ship by two men who were definitely  _ not _ a part of the Earth Kingdom navy.

“We have to help him!” Katara cried, already rushing toward the ship.

“Katara, wait!” Sokka called, but it was futile. Katara could not be stopped.

Sokka had two options from here: stay and defend his tribe (with his zero training and fighting experience), or go after Katara.

Sokka spared a glance at the Fire Nation ship. It remained stagnant in its progression to shore. The women and children were frozen in place, staring in a daze as the remains of the all-too-familiar ash rain pittered out around them. 

“Uki,” Sokka said, turning to one of the mothers of the tribe and holding out his spear. “Take this. Protect the tribe if… If they come.”

Uki nodded and grasped the handle. It looked wrong in her hands, and her stance wasn’t particularly favorable—but it would have to do. True to her name, Uki was a survivor, and she would protect the children at all costs. Of all the village women, Sokka trusted her the most to stand her ground; the only woman more stubborn was Gran-Gran herself. 

Armed only with the fierce overprotection of an older brother and a promise to keep, Sokka ran after his sister. She hadn’t made it far: Southern Water Tribe garb combined with snow boots was not conducive to running efficiency.

“Katara!” Sokka hissed, “what are you thinking?”

Katara didn’t look at him as she continued her running effort and Sokka jogged beside her (he didn’t have any more athletic ability—as he was adorned in clothes with similar restrictions—but he did have the advantage of longer legs).

“He needs our help, Sokka. He’s the  _ Avatar _ , and he can’t restore balance if he’s captured by… whoever these guys are.”

Sokka squinted at the flag, as if it would have changed since he last saw it.

“The… Earth Kingdom... navy?” Sokka wheezed beside her. Katara shook her head.

“They weren’t in uniform. I assume the Earth Kingdom forces have to be in uniform.”

“How do you know what their uniforms are? They could just look like normal clothes,” Sokka pointed out.

Katara shot her brother a glare. She probably would’ve elbowed him, too, if her arms weren’t occupied pumping as fast as her legs. 

“Okay, I guess we don’t know anything,” she huffed in exasperation.

When they reached Appa, the giant animal whined and dipped his head. Sokka ignored him, instead turning to the Earth Kingdom ship—which was moving further and further from shore each moment they let slip by.

If Katara waterbended, would the Fire Nation ship spot it from here? Could she even get both of them over to the ship anyway? If they broke the ice in just the right spot, they could use it as a makeshift raft and paddle with their arms. He just had to find a thin enough section of ice…

“Earth to Sokka!  _ Sokka! _ ” Katara’s voice cut through his train of thought.

“Hang on, Katara, I’m thinking.” Sokka muttered, still scanning the ice.

“Let’s go, Sokka, we don’t have much time!”

“I know, I’m trying to—” Sokka turned to see Katara on Appa’s back, the pair of them eying him with the same expectant look. “Oh.”

Clamoring onto Appa took almost as much time as Sokka imagined his plan might’ve taken, but he made it onto the great beast eventually.

“Yip, yip!” Katara commanded, but the sky bison just slid slowly into the water, relying solely on gravity until his legs were fully submerged. It was a sad scene, but Sokka forgot to poke fun at the grounded bison—too focused on the disturbing feeling of the bison’s muscles contracting as his six legs propelled them forward. 

Flying or not, the bison was an efficient mode of travel, gaining on the departing ship without issue. On the deck, Sokka could see the green-clad figures scrambling around the deck, pulling on ropes and sails far more complex than any canoe Sokka had ever piloted. If Hakoda hadn’t left when he had, Sokka might know what any of the frantic actions did; for now, he could safely conclude they were powering the ship forward. 

In the chaos, the crew didn’t seem to have spotted them; if they were going to have any chance of rescuing Aang, they needed to keep it that way. They had to be inconspicuous enough to slip onto the ship unnoticed.

Pulling up on a giant bison with a big blue arrow in its head was perhaps the most conspicuous scenario fathable. It pained Sokka to admit, but he knew what had to come next.

“Take off your coat,” he said, already shrugging off his parka.

“Are you crazy?” Katara made no move to comply, going so far as to cross her arms.

“We have to swim the rest of the way,” Sokka explained impatiently. “You can’t swim in your coat, it’s too heavy.”

“Are you crazy?” Katara repeated. Sokka resigned to explaining a bit further for the sake of his little sister’s less plan-oriented mind.

“We can’t fight them all, so we have to sneak in. Appa’s too big, so we’ll have to leave him here. You see that window?” Sokka pointed to a large window at the head of the ship, supposedly leading to the captain’s quarters or a similarly important room. “We’ll swim up and climb in. The planks look warped enough to be good hand-holds.” He prayed the chaos above deck indicated below deck was mostly empty. 

Katara didn’t look impressed. Her arms remained stubbornly crossed across her coat.

“Do you have a better idea?” Sokka asked, eyebrows raised. 

Without breaking her glare, Katara stripped off her coat and placed it carefully next to where Sokka’s lay on the expanse of Appa’s back.

“Let’s go,” she said, and Sokka was just a little miffed he didn’t get to say it when he was the one who had come up with the plan.

Sokka was used to the cold. He had lived in it his entire life: cold was all he knew. 

Sokka was also, unfortunately, a human being with no magical method of regulating his body temperature. No man, Water Tribe or not, could dive into ice cold water and not feel the chill seep into his bones. No  _ nonbender _ , at least. 

Maybe Katara would learn to keep herself warm in hypothermia-inducing waters with training, but right now she looked just as cold as Sokka. She immediately hugged herself upon entry of the frigid water, and Sokka wanted to do the same. He knew, though, moving would be the only source of warmth now—and if they didn’t get to the ship soon, this cold might have more lasting effects.

“C’mon, Katara.” Sokka began swimming, wincing as his outstretched arm exposed the sensitive (and now very cold) skin underneath. Katara nodded, reluctantly prying her own arms from her chest and gasping sharply when the water hit. Ever the trooper, she moved alongside Sokka without complaint, eyes wide from cold and staring ahead at her goal.

The window was much higher up than Sokka had estimated from a distance. He exchanged a wary look with his sister, but neither sibling said a word as they found their respective divots to use as hand and feet holds. Sokka had been right about the warped wood, at least: the climb was much easier than it would’ve been on a metal Fire Nation ship. Still, he slipped more than a few times—and fell more times than he would ever admit to later. He should’ve felt much lighter without his heavy parka, but the wet clothes sticking to him were like lead. He was already shaking like a leaf, and the occasional breeze intensified the shivering so violently that it catalyzed most of his falls. 

Katara, suddenly an expert waterbender, had subtly bent the water out of her clothes. While being without a coat in the South Pole was extremely unpleasant, it wasn’t nearly as debilitating as being soaked in ice water without a coat in the South Pole. It was no surprise—though a bit embarrassing—when Katara reached the slightly ajar window long before Sokka even made it past the halfway point. Once she’d clambered inside, she poked her head out and whisper-shouted down.

“ _ I’m going to look for Aang! _ ”

“ _ Wait _ !” Sokka hissed back, but she was already gone. “ _ Wow, thanks for the great plan, Sokka _ ,” he muttered to himself in his best falsetto impression of his sister. “ _ Do you want me to waterbend the water out of your clothes? No problem, Sokka. Would you like some help scaling this big-ass ship? Of course, Sokka. _ ”

He was just reaching out to grab the window ledge when the ship lurched violently. Sokka had managed to fall relatively gracefully up to this point, but as his chin hit the ledge and his legs came out from under him, Sokka allowed himself a single: “ _ Fuck! _ ” 

He managed to grab the sill with one hand, the other grasping at air as his legs flailed beneath him. He felt a trickle of blood from his chin, but the warmth it provided was more than welcome at this juncture.

He looked down. He could fall again, start over. Sokka dismissed that option as soon as it came to him: he would avoid the freezing ocean at all costs. Instead, he focused on finding footholds he could use to carry himself into the ship.

When Sokka had a plan, there was no distracting him: all his senses were dedicated to his goal. Kya had often berated him for not paying attention when other people talked, or not looking where he was going and tripping, but Sokka couldn’t help it. It was just how his brain functioned. It worked to his advantage a lot of the time—he was productive, motivated—but other times, his tunnel vision was only an impairment.

This was one of those times.

Sokka was so intent on finding a proper foot-hold that when he felt a hand close around his wrist, his surprise caused him to let go of the window sill, and he squeezed his eyes shut the brace for the icy fall.

_ Maybe the water is warmer than I remember. Please let the water be warmer than I remember. _

When Sokka opened his eyes, though, he hadn’t fallen, because whoever had his arm—Katara, he gathered (it’s not like Aang’s captors would help his rescuers aboard)—had grabbed hold of the other when Sokka had released it, and was now pulling him up. It would be a difficult task for Katara to lift Sokka in dry clothes, and nearly impossible to lift him in clothes supersaturated to the last thread with ice water. Given the challenging nature of this feat, it was no surprise the final heave brought Sokka over the edge and onto Katara.

Except when Sokka looked down at his savior, it wasn’t his sister.

___________________

Zuko wasn’t sure why he did it.

Well, he knew why he did it, but he  _ was _ sure he didn’t want to think about it.

He’d known there was someone there. He heard the occasional splashes of someone falling on the other side of the ship, and paused as he reached the window to hear a girl’s voice hiss  _ I’m going to look for Aang! _ After her footsteps faded, Zuko hauled his short frame over the sill and into the room. It looked like a mess hall, with a few large tables and crumbs dusting their surface. It seemed like a waste. A big room at the front of the ship with a window spreading across both sides of the ship? Considering the wide and protected view, this would be the perfect room to plan in the middle of a war. There wasn’t any honor in hiding down here, but it’s not like Zuko was ever the planner anyway. He bet Zhao had a room like this, maybe with one-way windows instead: he can see everyone, but no one can see him.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” A shout from outside interrupted Zuko’s thoughts. It must’ve been who the girl was talking to—probably the one who kept falling.

Zuko should leave. He had an Avatar to find—that girl knew his name, if he hurried, he could follow her and she’d probably lead him right to the airbender.

Zuko began maneuvering around the tables, intending on exiting the room, but somehow ending up in front of the opposite window anyway.

Without thinking, he poked his head out.

The boy dangling from the ledge was definitely Water Tribe, with his dark skin and brown hair. He didn’t even notice Zuko above him, as his gaze was fixed intently on his feet below him. He was waving them around, ostensibly trying to catch on one of the divots in the wood but missing every time. The boy was muttering to himself, too. Zuko couldn’t hear what he was saying, and had almost missed the murmuring entirely—he wasn’t sure if the boy even knew he was speaking aloud. It was a little difficult to tell at this angle, but he looked about 15 or 16. 

It could only be him. Sure, Zuko the last time he'd seen him was years ago—but the tribe hadn’t had any other boys that age. 

It could only be him.

Zuko should leave.

He reached out his hand and grabbed Sokka’s arm, clenching tightly as he flailed back in surprise.

He probably should have warned him. Zuko always forgot the verbal part of communication.

It didn’t matter, though, because years of training had fine-tuned his reflexes enough that his free hand shot out on its own and caught Sokka’s other arm, saving him from the unforgiving cold below. He pulled him over the edge—soaking wet teenage boys were  _ heavy _ , but Zuko was strong. Not strong enough, however, to moderate his last pull enough so Sokka  _ didn’t  _ fall on top of him.

Sokka stared down at Zuko. His familiar blue eyes were wide, and it occurred to Zuko how disorienting it might be for a Southern Water Tribe boy to be saved from the bitter depths of the ocean by someone so obviously Fire Nation.

For a moment, Zuko thought Sokka wouldn’t recognize him. For a moment, Zuko thought he had been lucky for the first time in his life.

“Zuko?”

Shit.

“Can you move?” Zuko said, ignoring Sokka’s (likely rhetorical anyway) question.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” he said, rolling off of Zuko to lay next to Zuko on the floor. Immediately, Zuko began re-drying his clothes, emitting warmth from every pore.

“So…” Sokka began, and Zuko suddenly remembered why he was here. How could he forget the  _ Avatar _ ? Whatever Sokka said next faded to the background, and he pushed himself off the floor and started towards the door.

“Wait!” Sokka called, and Zuko— _ of course _ —turned back to face him. “You’re here for Aang, aren’t you?”

Before Zuko had a chance to reply, two people came running in, followed by a strong wind which effectively shut the door and nearly knocked Zuko on his ass. One of the people was vaguely familiar, like Sokka. She had the same dark skin and brown hair as him, but much lighter eyes: Katara, he remembered. She must’ve been the girl with Sokka who said she was going to look for Aang. The other of the two must be Aang, but that didn’t seem right. He was dressed in the orange garb and adorned by the blue tattoos of a master airbender—he even had his head shaved and was holding a traditional glider—but he was a  _ child _ , younger even than Katara. Had the Avatar gone through the other three cycles without anyone noticing? Surely this couldn’t be the  _ century-old _ Avatar.

“You should’ve seen it, Sokka! Aang took out all the pirates just with his airbending!” Katara spoke in a rush, breathless from adrenaline.

“Pirates?” Sokka exclaimed, but he was ignored when Katara and Aang noticed Zuko standing in front of the door.

The room went silent for a moment. Katara squinted at him. She studied his scar first, then looked at his hair, then his eyes.

“Zuko?”

Zuko needed to leave.

He grabbed the small boy— _ Aang, Aang, Aang _ —and headed for the window. The young boy tried to pull away, but his stick arms were no match for Zuko.

“Wait, Zuko—” Sokka protested, stepping in his path. Zuko shoved him away and continued his path to the window.

“Zuko,” Sokka said again, grabbing his arm.

Zuko froze.

He would come to regret that.

Whatever supplicant Sokka was going to offer was cut off by the door swinging open.

Oh. 

_ That’s  _ what Katara meant by “pirates.”

The men that flooded the room wore more gold than Zuko had ever encountered as a royal. To be fair, the Fire Nation didn’t value precious metals like the Earth Kingdom, but the point stands: they had a lot of jewelry. Zuko thinks one of them might’ve even had an eyepatch, but he couldn’t be sure because his attention was focused on the man making a bee-line for Zuko. Zuko, who stood motionless, frozen by Sokka’s hand on his arm.

Zuko watched—stuck in place, his brain screaming at him to  _ move _ —as the man raised a hand holding the butt of his ax over Zuko’s head, then dropped it.

____________________

Sokka eyes widened in horror, his mouth agape, as Zuko crumpled to the floor. He couldn’t help but feel some of that was his fault; the boy could clearly handle himself, but he’d frozen under Sokka’s touch.

It did solve the Capture-the-Avatar issue, though, however unfortunate the means. The ax-wielding man nudged Zuko with his foot, shoving him aside like a pile of dirty laundry. Sokka’s stomach twisted at the sight.

Then the man turned to Sokka. Sokka really needed to get out of here.

For a brief moment, he considered taking Zuko with him. Then the moment passed. He’d helped Sokka, but he’d also tried to capture Aang from his pirate captors. He was Fire Nation: no matter what happened three years ago, that fact remained. Maybe he’d been hoping Sokka would help him in the case of this exact situation.

Sokka didn’t spare another moment before running through the herd of men and out the door, praying Katara and Aang were behind him.

The ship had looked a lot bigger on the outside; this was lucky for Sokka, since he had a tendency to get lost. He liked having a map, was that too much to ask?

In the case of this pirate-ship-escape, though, Sokka was able to understand and accept the lack of navigation materials.

He ran past a series of rooms (sleeping quarters? perhaps strategy rooms? it wasn’t important, but he still mourned the missed opportunity to explore a  _ pirate ship _ ) directly to the staircase leading to the deck. It was only after the wind hit him that he remembered he was still soaking wet.

Sokka scanned the deck. It was empty, save for the necessary fixtures—the mast, the wheel, etc.—and a table with a few chairs that were pushed to the side. Appa was, of course, nowhere to be seen, just as he’d designed. Aang had his glider, but there was no way it could hold all three of them. He needed a  _ plan _ , but there was no time.

Then there was the issue of the Zuko. He  _ hadn’t _ saved him—not exactly. Sokka hadn’t been in any danger lethal enough to merit saving.

He  _ had _ appreciated being spared from drenched in the unforgiving cold of the ocean yet again.  _ Yes _ , he had tried to kidnap Aang, but he wouldn’t have hurt him. He had been searching for the Avatar: Sokka knew that. He hadn’t attempted to coax Sokka into helping him, which was respectable. 

Kidnapping people, however, is objectively not respectable.

But he can’t just leave him.

Aang and Katara came rushing up the stairs behind him.

“I knocked them over and blocked the door,” Aang said, not out of breath in the least even though he hadn’t moved in  _ one hundred years _ , “but it’s only a matter of time before they get out.”

“Go, then!” Sokka urged, eyes monitoring the staircase.

“What about you?” Aang protested.

“No way your glider can hold us all,” Sokka said. “Take Katara. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Sokka—” 

“I’ll be right behind you,” Sokka repeated, cutting off Katara. He spared a glance at her. Her bright blue eyes—Kya’s eyes—were scrutinizing him, a regular task for them.

“Okay,” Katara conceded. “Let’s go, Aang.”

Aang looked reluctant, but listened to Katara ( _ of course _ ). Katara clung to the young boy’s back and, with one final look of unease from Aang, they were gone. 

Ax Man was the one to come up the stairs, because of course he was; the spirits wouldn’t have it any other way. He held his giant ax (really, it was quite large—impracticality so. Where could he have even found it? Is that the standard size for Earth Kingdom weapons?) up, ready to strike—or perhaps just bonk again—but he wasn’t looking at Sokka. His eyes were focused on the quickly egressing figure of Aang and Katara. Sokka was a little offended, if he was being honest—just because he was a nonbender, he was immediately withdrawn from consideration to be kidnapped? Sokka’s strategist mind was worth 10 benders. 

After a brief moment of self-pity, Sokka decided to use that strategist mind, darting past Ax Man while he was distracted to the stairs leading below deck. He grunted in surprise, but Sokka didn’t stick around to witness the full reaction. Thankfully, Ax Man was not a very good runner. Sokka wasn’t either, but he was much improved without snow boots or parkas debilitating him. 

Sokka was not prepared for the state of the Big-Window room. The door to said room had been torn completely off its hinges (then placed on the floorplanks adjacent to it—who rips off a door then carefully sets it down?). Inside, there were a few men slumped against the wall of the ship, presumably unconscious.  _ Aang _ —baby, naïve Aang—had done this? It was difficult to believe he would hurt a fly, much less leave multiple men knocked out, even if it was self-defense. Outside—outside the ship, that is—Sokka could hear shouts and watched, rooted to the spot, as a man single-handedly hauled himself over the edge of the window and into the room. He was recognized him as one of them men who had come with Ax Man, but he hadn’t stood out amongst the crowd. Now, Sokka was mesmerized by the plethora of precious metals he adorned: a ring on nearly every finger and a piercing everywhere one might think feasible and then some. He was so distracted by the countless shiny object blinding him he didn’t notice Ax Man come up behind him before it was too late.

_ Thunk. _


	2. If You Don’t Wanna Be Here, No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azula became a much bigger part of this than i intended

_ The space is familiar. _

_ Firebending competitions—sponsored by the Royal Fire Academy for Girls—were held in similar arenas. _

_ Her head was down. She heard cheering—she always did—but it was warped and cruel. It didn’t make her chest swell like the praise once had, and it didn’t make her feel nothing like the apathy she favors now; this cheering made her chest tighten. _

_ She spared a glance at the audience surrounding her and was met by the eyes of a malicious eleven-year-old, grinning as the citizen’s around her jeered. They were laughing at her. The little girl’s teeth were a blinding white, and sharp as thorns. They grew longer the more she started, piercing into her lower lip until little pricks of vibrant red blood appeared. Next to the girl sat an old man, his long hair curtaining his face as he looked away. _

_ She must have been luring her opponent into a false sense of security; that was a favorite tactic of hers. They were always happy, always smiling like they knew a secret—but she knew every secret, and revelled in the way their face would fall when she inevitably beat them. It’s not surprising her methods go right over their heads, those blundering idiots that pass for nobles these days. _

_ Her opponent was getting closer—she could feel it. The earth shifted beneath her, the tile quaking in fear. She smiled. The earth should be afraid: not of her opponent, but of  _ her _. That is why the earth told her these things, after all. Why else would it trust a firebender? _

_ She pressed her palm to the ground. There was distress in this tile—many years of fear and fighting had bled the strife from the fighters straight to the earth beneath them. The souls of the beaten were many, the souls of the victors fewer: this was no surprise, considering the victors tended to be the same few benders. She was one of those benders. _

_ A raindrop landed on her palm. It hadn’t been raining a moment ago. Another fell onto the tile directly below her—but there was no wind; it should have fallen on her hair. _

_ Tentatively, she reached for her face. It was wet: from her eyes, a steady stream of tears. She never cried—had never cried. Not in a long time, at least. _

_ Perhaps this was another tactic. Make the opponent feel pity—feel guilty—then go in for the kill. That must be why her head is down; she wasn’t sure that she could pull off the tears, so she assumed the most pitiful, weak position imaginable. The Fire Nation recognized the power women could wield more than any other nation, but the general assumption they were  _ weaker _ remained—and could be used to her advantage. _

_ The spectators might think her a fool, but  _ he _ would know. They had the same mind—he said so himself. He would know, and no one else mattered. They’d see soon enough, anyway. _

_ Her opponent was above her now. She didn’t need the earth for that: she could see the well-manicured feet of a nobleman in front of her. It was no surprise to find she was fighting a grown man. Her prodigal firebending had propelled her to the highest competition division—against the adults. _

_ The act was over now, though. It’s time to show this sucker who he’s really up against. _

_ Azula raised her head and was met with her father’s burning hand. _

Azula didn’t think about her brother. She didn’t think about how he had this sixth sense that let him know when she’d just woken from a nightmare, and would hold her—kicking and screaming—until she calmed down. She didn’t think about how he was the last—and only—family member who had ever asked her if she was okay. She didn’t think about what he must look like now, a hand-shaped scar deforming half his face. She didn’t think about watching him get it, watching him  _ burn _ , a sick glee swelling in her at the sight of him  _ finally _ getting what he deserved. She didn’t think about how that glee had faded after the first dream, leaving her empty and hollow: nothing but a mirror to reflect her father. 

Azula couldn’t waste any thoughts on him. It was what made her strong. If Zuko had directed more of his energy to training and to his studies and less energy to  _ feelings _ , he would still be here today.

Azula had moved into Zuko’s room when he’d left. Her father had insisted, and besides, it was bigger; fitting for a prince. A  _ crown  _ prince—though he hadn’t always been, and he wasn’t really now. The sheets felt softer, too, but she knew they were the same as hers. They held a certain comfort, a certain smell… It had faded by now, leaving Azula to lie awake at night, trying to remember what it was.

The best feature of the room was objectively the window: it took up nearly all of the east-facing wall, with an unobstructed view of the gardens. Azula hated it.

The turtleducks that had once inhabited the small pond were long gone (their bread suppliers being gone longer). The plants were overgrown, too—Azula had been sure to keep the landscapers away from it. Without grooming, the fire lilies had exploded across the lawn; what had once been a few perfectly curated flowers was now hundreds of wild lilies in all shapes and sizes. Fire lilies required care—otherwise, they would become deformed. The strangled stems had made their way right up to Zuko’s— _ Azula’s _ —window, pressing their glowing blossoms against the glass, misshapen faces twisted in the agony of their freedom.

_____________________

Lieutenant Jee had been working under Prince Zuko for three years. Initially, he had been offended to be assigned to serve a  _ thirteen-year-old _ : after years of fighting for the Fire Nation, they repay him with a babysitting gig? Jee soon discovered, however, that Prince Zuko didn’t require any babysitting. Or rather, didn’t  _ want _ any babysitting.

_ “Prince Zuko,” Jee had greeted, bowing deeply—he didn’t respect the kid, but he did respect his will to live (he knew the royal family to be vindictive), “it is an honor to serve you.” _

_ The prince sneered, but the effect was dampened by the bandages covering half his head. The boy had just woken up—after three weeks of mindless sailing while the crew awaited their teenage leader. General Iroh hadn’t told them what caused Prince Zuko to be unconscious for weeks—what was underneath the bandages—but Jee had a few guesses. _

_ “Your Highness,” Jee continued when the prince said nothing, “it may be beneficial for the crew to know the nature of your… injury. If there will be permanent damage to your sight or hearing, for example.” _

_ Prince Zuko bristled at the mention of his injury.  _

_ “I can hear you just fine, Lieutenant,” he spat, red blooming on his face as his anger intensified, unprompted, “That is all you need to know. Set course for the Western Air Temple. We’re going to find the Avatar.” _

Lieutenant Jee was initially offended when he was informed he’d be taking orders from a teenager—he’d thought it patronizing; a passive way to dismiss a loyal veteran. The wooden ship they’d been given for their first year before the Fire Nation delivered a seventy-year-old metal model to them certainly hadn’t helped. 

Now, he realizes the prince was the most challenging assignment he’d been given.

The crew had thought Prince Zuko was crazy.  _ General Iroh _ had thought Price Zuko was crazy. He turned the world upside down and back up again, investigating every folk tale, every irregular wind, and found no Avatar: the airbender was dead. Everyone knew he was dead. 

But here they were, three years later, watching the Avatar and his Water Tribe companion fly off the fast egressing Earth Kingdom ship. Jee looked to the General, whose eyes were trained on the airborne legend. 

“Shall we follow the Avatar, sir?” Jee said, but he wasn’t looking at the Avatar, unable to tear his eyes from the wooden ship getting farther and farther by the second.

“No,” General Iroh answered. He turned back to his tea. “Would you like to play some pai pho, Lieutenant?”

“What about the prince, sir?” Jee asked, struggling to maintain an unaffected tone. The ship was nearly imperceptible now, fading into the snow-blurred horizon.

“What about him?” The General didn’t look up from the pai sho board. “He asked to be left alone until he returned to the  _ Wani _ with the Avatar. I don’t see Prince Zuko or the Avatar here, do you?”

Jee looked away from the disappearing Earth Kingdom ship to exchange wary glances with his crewmates.

“No, sir.”

“Well, then,” the general said, finally looking up from his board, “how about a game?”

That night, the crew of the  _ Wani _ gathered with their instruments for music night, as they would any other day.

But this wasn’t any other day; the prince was gone. The disconcerting response from the General left the crew on edge, but more than that: they had no purpose. No directions. No  _ instructions _ . With Prince Zuko absent, they were expected to follow General Iroh—but General Iroh hadn’t given them any orders to follow. They were still in the harbor. Jee felt  _ guilty  _ for remaining here this long. Not advancing, but not retreating: the Southern Water Tribe—or what was left of it—must feel threatened under their static watch. The  _ Wani _ wasn’t going to attack, but they couldn’t know that. General Iroh was confident the tribe would be welcoming to the landing party they were sending out tomorrow morning; Jee was incredulous that one short stay by the Fire Prince nearly three years ago would overshadow the century of hostility between the nations. But what could he do? Watch his (former?) leader get captured by the Earth Kingdom, watch the Avatar fly safely back to shore—well within their grasp—watch the Southern Water Tribe peek out from their strange ice-homes (not igloos, exactly, but not  _ not _ igloos), alert and anticipating their advance, all while the General watched his water boil?

The crew dragged out their instruments—if General Iroh was going to do business as usual, they should too—but the thick air of apprehension weighing on them didn’t wane. Making  _ any _ noise felt wrong. A couple crewmen began tentatively tuning their instruments—the way one might slowly peel off a bandage: with the intent of maintaining the quiet but resulting in an onerous sound of the same volume. The rest of the crew eyed the instruments in their hands warily, not willing to risk the disruption. 

“Perhaps we should turn in for the night, General,” Jee suggested. “It’s been a long day.”

Iroh looked up from his tsungi horn—the prince’s, on the rare occasion he joined them—to the anxious faces around him.

“I think you may be correct, Lieutenant Jee,” the instant relief from the crew was palpable, “Besides, it will be much more enjoyable when we can play with the Southern Water Tribe. I bet they can bring some interesting instruments into the mix.”

The relief was sucked out of the air faster than the Prince could say “honor”: the mention of the Southern Water Tribe and subsequent diction brought the tension back into the crew. If General Iroh noticed, he didn’t show it as he packed up the tsungi horn and slowly rose to his feet.

“Last night sleeping on the ship!” Silence. One or two of the men nodded nervously, more to end the awkwardness than to affirm. “Well, goodnight, gentlemen.” The General dumped his instrument onto the lap of the man sitting next to him and left, calling over his shoulder as he descended the stairs to his room.

“Thank you for putting my tsungi horn away! I am too old to be lugging that thing around.”

The crewman looked down at the instrument, which the General had lifted easily moments ago, and sighed.

____________________

Bao placed his axe on the wall next to his bed. Most weapons were kept in a separate room, but no one said anything when Bao had hung it there ten years ago. 

A thick vine was growing in Bao’s stomach, its thorny tendrils reaching further and further, threatening to choke. He knew he had to incapacitate the Fire Nation one to get to the Avatar—and the Water Tribe boy may have information. That didn’t comfort Bao any as he peeled a long black hair (the same color as Lim’s) off the end of his axe. 

“Stop,” Lim’s voice commanded from the bed bolted down next to his. 

“Stop what?” Bao asked, not looking at his best friend as he shook the hair from his fingers, watching as it drifted to the floor.

“You’re thinking too much,” Lim said bluntly. Bao turned to see him lying sideways on his bed, legs dangling off from the knee down and head propped up by the pillow he’d stolen from Bao. His hair was the same black, yes, but much shorter. Bao was tempted to retrieve the hair just so he could compare. 

“You’re thinking about sides,” Lim clarified. “Morals.”

“It’s okay to think about morals.” The two men turned their heads towards Kanza’s voice as they entered. “As long as you recognize we’re in the right.”

Lim sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. “This isn’t your room.”

“No,” Kanza agreed, and plucked a gold ring off of Lim’s bedside table, “and this isn’t your ring.”

“They can’t do that!” Lim spluttered, looking to Bao to mediate. Bao just shrugged.

“They’re not wrong.”

Lim made a grab for the ring, but Kanza grabbed his pale wrist before it could reach them. He struggled against their steely grasp for a minute, but his lean arms were ultimately no match for Kanza’s thick muscles. Lim sighed in defeat and let his arm go slack.

“My starving family needs it more than your index finger,” Kanza pointed out as they stuffed the ring into one of their many pockets. 

“I  _ guess _ ,” Lim huffed, flopping back onto the bed.

“Thank you!” Kanza called as they exited the room—as if Lim had any choice in the matter.

“Do you think if I told Shui, he’d make them give it back?” Lim said once Kanza was out of earshot.

Bao shrugged, though he knew the answer was a definitive  _ no _ ; Shui siding against his partner on anything was highly unlikely.

Bao wasn’t thinking about Shui, though. His eyes were trained on the floor, watching the black hair dance as the breeze from the small window manipulated it around the floor. 

Lim groaned dramatically. Bao looked up.

“Spirits, you’re still feeling guilty. You’re such a  _ bummer _ , you know that, Bao?” Lim rose from the bed and stretched, the tips of his long fingers grazing the ceiling. “I’m gonna go find Shui, you can stay here and mope.”

Bao grunted, eyes back on the hair at his feet. He heard Lim’s footsteps and suddenly the lanky man came into view as he snatched the hair from the floor. 

“And I’m taking  _ this _ with me.”

___________________

Azula snatched the book from Yua. 

“What are you doing with this?” She demanded.

“Sorry, Princess Azula,” Yua scrambled out of her armchair (it was hers now: it was in Azula’s room, but Yua always sat there) and bowed quickly. “It was on your shelf. I didn’t know…”

“Didn’t know what?” Azula snapped, her frustration growing wilder than the fire lilies outside. Her long nails rapped on the intertwined dragons decorating the front cover of the book in her hand.

“Didn’t know it was his.”

____________________

Sokka expected to wake up in a cell.

As he blinked his eyes open, however, he found himself on a bed—not the softest he’d experienced (although how many beds had he really experienced, isolated in the South Pole all his life), but not the hardwood floor he’d anticipated. The room wasn’t too bad either: four walls, a real door with only one lock, some empty wooden bins shoved against the wall, and…

Zuko, lying next to Sokka, black ponytail fanned out against the same pillow Sokka had been using a moment ago. He looked peaceful like this—he looked like he did three years ago. Except instead of a bandage tightly wound around half his face, a harsh red scar bloomed across that side, curling past his left ear.

Sokka hadn’t seen the scar before. Not for the first time, he wondered what had happened to cause such an injury. He had suspected a burn when he first met Zuko—some of the village women had burns from the numerous raids, and the pain the boy faced seemed to be of a similar brand. Now his hypothesis was confirmed by the angry mark, but he didn’t feel much satisfaction. 

It wasn’t until Zuko began to stir that Sokka realized he’d been staring for a socially unacceptable amount of time. He scrambled to sit up fully, but his jerking movements only hastened Zuko’s waking.

The prince slowly opened his eyes, and Sokka froze as their golden irises met his. Zuko stared for what some might consider a socially unacceptable amount of time. For a moment, Sokka thought he was going to smile.

The moment ended as Zuko was shaken out of whatever sleep-induced trance he was in and leapt from the bed. Then, attempting to hold onto some dignity, he brushed his hands on his shirt nonchalantly.

“They put us there,” Sokka spoke in a rush. “Like that, I mean. Next—”

“I get it,” Zuko snapped. He scanned the room once, eyes pausing on the empty bins and the door lock, then took the one step toward the exit (it wasn’t a terrible room, but it also wasn’t a big one). Sokka watched, mesmerized, as Zuko pulled a pin out of nowhere and began to inspect the lock.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before Zuko cussed under his breath and moved away from the door, clearly deep in thought.

“That’s it?” Sokka scoffed (still kneeling on the bed, so perhaps he didn’t look so impressive either. Sokka got up from the bed).

Zuko frowned at Sokka.

“You’re not going to put more than  _ two seconds _ of effort into unlocking the door? I know you’re good at this sort of thing.”

Zuko’s frown turned into a glare as his pale skin flushed a red worthy of his nation.

“It’s a deadbolt,” Zuko explained, as if Sokka—who had never been outside the South Pole—had ever seen a deadbolt. Sokka waited for further clarification, but none came (and he wasn’t about to expose his lack of worldly knowledge). Instead, Zuko began rooting around the bins.

“There’s nothing in there,” Sokka sneered, although he hadn’t checked beyond a once-over from the bed. Zuko said nothing, and kept looking. At the last bin, he reached into a dusty corner and pulled up a misshapen lump of…

“What is that?” Sokka said, curiosity getting the better of his pettiness as he took a step to stand in front of Zuko. Zuko stepped back, away from Sokka. Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much of anywhere to go, so he stumbled and fell square on his ass into the bin he’d just searched. The sides of the bin folded him in half, rendering him helpless and also quite transportable: Sokka could just pick him up and carry him about the tiny room. Staring straight ahead from beneath the ponytail that had fallen over his eyes during the tumble, Zuko held up the lump like a holy grail.

“It’s a potato.”

Sokka had never seen a potato before. Is this what they all looked like? Sprigs of green poking out from every divit, fuzzier than a moonpeach, and so… deformed. Sokka wrinkled his nose and reluctantly accepted the offering, tossing it aside (into one of the bins  _ not  _ occupied by a grumpy sixteen-year-old) in favor of Zuko’s hand. The boy flinched away, pulling his hand back so fast Sokka hadn’t yet registered the action when Zuko braced both hands against the sides of the bin and  _ pushed himself up _ . Sokka was so impressed by the success of this motion he didn’t think to move as Zuko got to his feet, not an inch away from Sokka.

Sokka froze, his eyes wide and gazing into Zuko’s. Zuko’s face was flushed an even more severe shade of red than before (Sokka could only imagine what falling then getting up in such quick succession would do to one’s blood flow), but his piercing glare remained fixed and his voice was steady and clear when he spoke.

“Can you move?”

“Right!” Sokka stepped to the side, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Right. Sorry.”

Zuko huffed, but whatever not-reply he was about to give was interrupted by the door of the room swinging open.

In walked Axe Man. Zuko changed his stance into what must be a fighting position. Sokka did his best to mimic it.

“Oh,” Axe Man said, and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “You’re up.”

Zuko darted out, clearly aiming to run past Axe Man, but the pirate caught him before he could get out the door. Too late, Sokka realized Zuko had been in  _ run-for-your-life _ position, not fighting. Axe Man held Zuko up by the back of his shirt, but there was no animosity in his gaze.

“You’re pretty young for a Fire Nation soldier,” Axe Man considered.

“Put him down!” Sokka demanded, his voice cracking on the last word.  _ Dammit, puberty _ .

Sokka’s words proved superfluous, however, when Zuko kicked Axe Man in  _ his _ potatoes and initiated plan Run Out the Door: Part Two. This attempt proved no more successful than the last as Axe Man, face contorted in pain but still functioning, reached out his arm to slam the door shut in the prince’s face.

“Listen,” Axe Man started, but Zuko wasn’t done. He bit Axe Man’s hand and the burly man dropped it in surprise. Taking that as his cue, Zuko sprinted out the door and out of sight.

Axe Man sighed. “It’s fine, he’s got nowhere to go,” he said, as if Sokka had been concerned by this possibility.

“I’m Bao,” the pirate turned to face Sokka, offering his hand. Sokka accepted it, grasping his arm and surprised that the clear Earth Kingdom native knew how to greet people the Water Tribe way.

“Hello, Bao-the-pirate-who-kidnapped-me,” Sokka responded, “I’m Sokka.”

____________________

When Azula was seven, she’d made a plan to run away.

It was fool-proof. Sneaking around the palace had always been easy; all she had to really plan for was sneaking  _ out _ of the palace. That, too, was simple—security was built to prevent trained assassins sneaking in, not two children sneaking out.

_ Two _ children. That was the one variable in her narrative, the wild card of the deck she’d carefully sorted, the twisted lily and a field of manicured flowers. 

Azula could convince him. She knew she could. Azula was clever, and he wasn’t—Father said so himself.

“Azula?” Zuko whispered, sitting up in his comically large bed as she strode in. 

Azula wrinkled her nose. She hadn’t anticipated him waking up himself before she had a chance to. She briefly contemplated how he could be such a light sleeper at nine, but pushed the thought out of her mind: there were many answers, and none were worth her time.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Zuko asked when Azula said nothing.

“No,” she said simply, walking up to his large window to look at the perfectly groomed fire lilies smiling up at her from the other side. 

She heard Zuko pat the space beside him. Azula turned and considered his offer for a moment before leaping up to the bed. She paused to inhale the scent of fire lilies one last time—it was not a manly scent, according to Father, so it must mean Mother had been here. She often was.

Zuko hooked an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, fully prepared to hold her until she fell back asleep, but that wasn’t part of the plan. Tonight was not the night for sleeping. Tonight, Azula would be free from dreams. 

She would be free from many things.

Face smushed into Zuko’s side, Azula murmured (which was also  _ not _ part of her plan; she was supposed to be commanding, confident), “Let’s run away.”

“What?” Zuko pulled away slightly, enough that Azula could speak properly.

“We’re running away,” Azula decided, the new space giving her the air she needed to be strong. “I have a plan, but you can’t trip up, dunderhead—”

Zuko was shaking his head. Azula couldn’t see it, sitting side my side, but she felt his hair and heard the  _ swish _ of his ponytail.

“We can’t, Azula.”

“Why not?” Azula demanded. There were many reasons, but Azula knew all of them: none of them were enough. She wanted to leave—he  _ had _ to leave. “You’re not the crown prince,” Azula began listing with her fingers, though Zuko couldn’t see them, “you’re not even close to the next-in-line, Father hates you—”

“Father doesn’t hate me!”

“—you have nothing keeping you here but the turtleducks. Come on, Zuzu, we don’t have all the time in the world.”

Zuko sighed and moved away from Azula to face her. The proximity had felt a little suffocating, but now Azula just felt cold.

“I can’t leave Mother,” Zuko pleaded.

“Why?” Azula snapped. “She’d leave you, if she could.”

“That’s not true!” Zuko was getting upset; seven years, and he still hadn't learned Azula’s language.

“She would,” Azula insisted, “but she’s like you—too dumb to think up a good escape plan.”

“Mother isn’t dumb!” Zuko defended, the dig at him going unnoticed under that vast shadow of  _ Mother _ .

“You’re getting awfully defensive, Zuzu,” Azula tsked. “Whatever. I’m leaving, with or without you.”

Immediately, Zuko’s face softened from anger to concern, his narrowed eyes blooming into wide golden irises.

“You can’t go on your own, Azula. It’s too dangerous. Stay with me.”

“If you want to stay with me, then  _ come with me _ , idiot,” Azula snapped, but Zuko didn’t look as affected by her sharp tone as he had mere moments ago; he’d been cut by it too many times, and was beginning to form a callus.

Good. He could use one.

Zuko reached out again to pull her to him. Azula followed, her body chasing her brother’s warmth though her mind told her to leave.

Azula stayed. 

Somewhere, she’d known he would never agree. He would never leave Mother, not for Azula.

Azula had never been enough.

____________________

Zuko ran.

He remembered racing against Azula—they’d weave through the gardens, like Zuko was weaving through the door frames and up the stairs now. He always lost to Azula, but he seemed to be winning against the pirates.

He didn’t have his swords or his mask—both had been fixed to his belt, which was now bare. Zuko felt oddly invaded: no one got to touch his Blue Spirit wear but him. Mother had, too, of course, but they weren’t Zuko’s then—and if there was one exception to a rule, it was her.

He heard shouts as he ran by but didn’t waste any thoughts trying to decipher them. He was on the deck now; this ship was even smaller than the  _ Wani _ .

He scanned his surroundings. Looking at the sun, it was about five in the evening—Agni, he’d been out too long. There were four men that he could see (all clearly Earth Kingdom hailing save one, who almost looked Fire Nation). They were scattered, two and two—Zuko had time.

Time to what?

The only thing lacking—the only thing that  _ mattered— _ was land. All around him, nothing but endless sea: a familiar but unwelcome sight. Zuko was a good swimmer, but was he  _ that _ good? 

Probably not.

The four men on deck must have reached this conclusion as well as they eyed him with amusement. 

“Whatcha up to?” The Fire Nation one called. Zuko looked at him in bewilderment: at second glance, he was clearly Fire Nation—his pale skin and amber eyes gave him away. One of the other men—the oldest of the four, Zuko guessed, maybe in his mid-forties—approached Zuko. He readied his stance, expecting a fight, but the man moved right past Zuko and grabbed something that had been leaning on the doorframe behind him.

“I’m Qiang, the captain of this ship,” the man said, “and we here on the  _ Wangjile _ prefer to think of ourselves as  _ unaffiliated. _ ” The Fire Nation man nodded approvingly. “That means you get treated like every other prisoner, so  _ you _ ,” he handed Zuko the broom he’d just retrieved, “get to sweep the deck.”

Zuko let the broom drop to the floor. Qiang raised an eyebrow. 

“So you’d rather be trapped below deck with the Water Tribe boy all day?” Qiang asked.

“He doesn’t have to sweep? I thought you were  _ unaffiliated _ .” Zuko protested, the injustice of it all causing him to betray his aversion to speaking. 

“We are,” one of the other men assured—was he wearing women’s clothing?—“we just figure he’ll be more versed in normal _ , wooden _ , ship maintenance.”

Zuko snorted. Sokka had never been on a real ship in his life, unless something big had happened in the past three years to change that. Zuko, on the other hand, had been on nearly  _ every _ different kind of ship in the span of his life.

“You disagree?” Qiang looked surprised.

“Yes,” Zuko picked up the broom in one smooth motion and returned it to the pirate captain, “give him the broom, I’ll take the rest.”

Qiang looked incredulous, but turned to the Fire Nation man, “Lim! Think you can handle him?”

The Fire Nation man— _ Lim _ , which wasn’t a traditional Fire Nation name—groaned, but headed over to Zuko anyway.

Lim didn't even pause as he passed Zuko, grabbing his arm and dragging him down the stairs without a second glance. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid,” Lim began. At first, Zuko wasn’t even sure he was talking to him because he didn’t stop to face him or give any indication he was addressing Zuko at all: to him, talking was breathing. “I don’t know how to do half this shit, so I’m praying to the spirits you’re worth your salt.”

This was the strangest kidnapping experience Zuko had ever had. In all fairness, he’d never been kidnapped before; burned, almost assassinated, sent death threats—all that he’s been and done, but never kidnapped. 

But Zuko imagines most prisoners aren’t treated like this.

Lim takes Zuko from room to room, telling him they’ll go to each one, but it doesn’t take long to finish the tasks Lim thinks up—especially when there aren’t too many rooms to begin with. There’s three bedrooms—all with various numbers of beds—the kitchen (which Lim shoos two young men out of before they start), and the dining room (when they reach this room, Zuko gazes at the window for an inordinate amount of time and Lim berrates him for soaking in the view when he should be working. Zuko wasn’t looking  _ out  _ the window, though—he was looking  _ at  _ the window).

Zuko doesn’t see Sokka again until the end of the day. Lim leads Zuko back up to the deck where he finds Sokka scrubbing the deck under Axe Man’s careful supervision. The sun has set, now—Zuko would guess it had been three or four hours. 

“Done already?” Axe Man grunts.

Lim shrugs. “Sure.”

Sokka looks up at Zuko, hands and knees blackened with dirt, “You’re  _ done _ ?”

Zuko shrugs.

“I’m going to dinner, you take care of these,” Lim decided, prodding Zuko towards Axe Man and rushing downstairs before either can protest.

Axe Man sighs.

“Well, good job today,” Sokka lights up to comment, but Axe Man turns to him quickly, “not you. You sucked.”

“Well then, Mister Clean, next time make  _ him _ wash the deck!” Sokka squawked indignantly.

Axe Man looked down on him with pity.

“You can be done for today. Come on, we’re going back to your room.”

Zuko winced. “Room” was generous; it was more of a cupboard the crew had stuck a spare bed in. 

It didn’t even have a window.

Axe Man hauled Sokka up by the arm and dragged him over to Zuko.

“I’m Bao. I don’t know if…”

“You mentioned that before hitting me with your axe” Zuko finished. Bao pressed his lips together but didn’t respond, opting instead to lead both boys back to the cupboard. They passed the kitchen on the way, and one of the young men from earlier popped their head out to deliver some bread rolls and an orange.

“ _ That’s _ dinner?” Sokka hissed, loud enough for the whole ship to hear.

“A feast of kings,” Bao confirmed, “or just prisoners.” 

When they reached the room, Zuko made a bee-line for the floor, getting into meditation position and glaring at Bao as he waited for him to leave. Sokka hovered awkwardly by the door. 

Bao cleared his throat.

“Um… goodnight?” The pirate’s voice went up, and his statement came out more like a question. Zuko continued to glare. “Right. Well.” Bao closed the door quickly, but Zuko didn’t stop glaring at the space Bao had been until he heard the deadbolt fall into place and the sound of footsteps fading towards the dining room.

Zuko closed his eyes. He needed a moment to think—Uncle always said he didn’t think enough. Or was it that he thought too much? Zuko couldn’t remember now. In the end it didn't matter: the results were the same.

He could hear Sokka shuffling around the room, hear him say something, but as Zuko’s mind cleared he couldn’t be bothered to respond.

Zuko was on a pirate ship; Zuko had been kidnapped by pirates. Sometime after Zuko had been rendered unconscious, Sokka had also been captured—in similar fashion, judging by the angry welt Sokka kept rubbing at.

Every moment he spent here, he got further and further from the Avatar. Was he still in the South Pole? Was he coming for Sokka? He wondered if Uncle was coming for him. He’d told him not to bother until he’d returned with the Avatar, but Zuko couldn’t accomplish that until he escaped. Maybe Uncle had captured the Avatar—he was slippery, but naïve: it would be easy enough. Would he wait for Zuko then? Or would he take the airbender to the Fire Nation, rendering Zuko’s quest for honor over, so that he could never go home?

Zuko had to escape—he had to get out of here and to the Avatar before anyone else had a chance.

_ What about Sokka? _ A small voice in his head dared to ask. Would Sokka come with him? Not if he was capturing the Avatar—he seemed to be on good terms with the young legend. Could he leave Sokka? These pirates seemed harmless enough, and he’d left Sokka once before—he could do it again.

Except when Zuko had woken up, he’d thought it was one of those mornings in the Southern Water Tribe. When Zuko had woken up, he’d stared up into Sokka’s familiar blue eyes and wondered how they had changed so much in the night. When Zuko had woken up, Sokka was staring at him, and he had felt thirteen again.

___________________

“Princess?”

Azula cracked open her eyes. Her tired vision swam for a moment before focusing on the figure before her.

Long black hair, tied back into a ponytail. Golden eyes that saw right into hers. High, sharp, cheekbones that could cut but never would.

“Zuzu?” Azula croaked. The figure sighed and shook their head, but climbed into her bed all the same. 

“It’s Yua,” the figure said, wrapping her arms tightly around Azula.

“So it is,” Azula breathed, and fell back into sleep.

___________________

Zuko was meditating. Sokka recognized the practice: they used to meditate together, after Zuko had taught him. He’d been learning from his Uncle, and wasn’t used to meditating without his familiar presence. Sokka had stepped in, and seemed to substitute just fine.

Sokka didn’t think Zuko would appreciate him joining him now, though.

So Sokka lay on the bed, gazing up at the dusty ceiling. He was waiting for Zuko to finish, so they could eat and go to sleep, but he was still going. Sokka didn’t know how long it had been, but it felt like ages. Had he always meditated this long? Sokka couldn’t even fathom sitting still for more than a few seconds. Maybe it was the situation; maybe the longer one medicated, the more clarity one could gain. Just like a job, except with wisdom instead of money.

“Zuko? Earth to Zuko?” Sokka sat up, frowning at the still-meditating form of his new roommate.

Zuko didn’t respond. Sokka threw a bread roll at him.

It hit the back of his head and, without turning, the prince grabbed the roll and threw it back at Sokka, where it hit him square in the forehead.

“ _ Rude _ ,” Sokka muttered, then added, louder, “You have to eat.”

Zuko said nothing.

“At least eat the orange. It’s got it’s own little protective case, see?” Sokka tossed the orange to the floor next to Zuko, where it landed with a  _ thunk _ . Zuko turned his head and inspected the orange. After a moment of consideration, he tore the orange in half—nearly perfectly—and slid the larger half back towards Sokka.

Sokka sighed, but accepted his portion. He ate in silence, glancing at Zuko every so often: Zuko, who now inexplicably had an empty orange peel half beside him despite not making a peep. Sokka finished his food, leaving one roll for Zuko—just in case. Zuko still hadn’t moved.

“Are you just gonna stare at the wall at night?”

Zuko said nothing. Maybe he was asleep. Sokka threw the last bread roll at him.

This time, Zuko caught it, turning around to glare at Sokka.

“Can you shut up?”

“No,” Sokka stated bluntly. “Get over here, unless you would rather sleep on the floor.”

The look Zuko gave Sokka implied that he would, in fact, rather sleep on the floor. Sokka sighed.

“Okay, we’ll switch off using the bed, then,” Sokka conceded.

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Zuko growled.

“Dude, you have to—”

“I ate,” Zuko snapped, chucking his empty peel at Sokka, “so can you leave me alone?”

Sokka huffed, but made no more arguments as Zuko turned back to face the wall. 

Sokka had never slept on a boat before, and he thought the constant rocking would be discombobulating, but the sway was almost comforting as he drifted into sleep.

_ “Wait up, Katara!” _

_ Ever since his sister had discovered her waterbending, she’d been insufferable; the only time it seemed to work properly was when it inconvenienced Sokka the most. Like now, as she slid quickly on the ice, speeding further and further ahead as Sokka rushed to keep up behind her. _

_ In his haste, Sokka slipped on the ice and came careening towards his younger sister, but the eleven-year-old held up her hand to stop her brother from flying past her into oblivion.  _

_ “Shh,” Katara hissed, pointing at a figure in the distance. Sokka squinted up from where he sat on the snow-covered ice. _

_ “Is that… a monk?” _

_ “No! All the monks are dead, stupid,” Katara lambasted.  _

_ Sokka shrugged. “Maybe we found the last one.” _

_ They certainly looked like a monk—or at least how a monk was described in their degenerated textbooks. Their head was mostly shaved, save for their ponytail, which whipped around in the wind. That didn’t seem to phase them, though. They looked peaceful, meditating in the snow. _

_ Katara just huffed. “It’s  _ not _ a monk.” _

_ The figure breathed out a puff of fire. The siblings flinched back in unison. _

_ “I think you may be right,” Sokka admitted, “that’s no monk.” _

When Sokka woke, he sat up to see Zuko, unmoved from his meditating position—the bread roll untouched beside him—as if he hadn’t slept at all.

___________________

It had been a day since Sokka had been taken.

Katara had never spent a day without Sokka; in the South Pole, it was difficult to avoid him. She’d often found herself  _ wishing _ to spend some time without him—but now that he was gone, all she felt was a hollowness, empty air where her best friend used to be. Everything seemed so heavy without his terrible puns to lighten the mood.

Sokka made a sacrifice, though: himself for the Avatar and Katara. Katara was not about to let that be for nothing. Aang could not be captured.

The Fire Nation ship still haunted their shore. Katara had urged the women and children inside—the ship wasn’t advancing, but it also wasn’t leaving.

Zuko had been on that ship.

Zuko was with Sokka now, supposedly. He’d looked older—as he should, three years later, but the scar had aged him even further. Katara had never seen that half of his face  _ unscarred _ , but the bandage had left whatever lie underneath to the imagination. Part of Katara had never thought the injury had even been real, despite his pain. It didn’t seem possible for a boy that age to have a wound that was so consuming.

Katara shook her head to clear her thoughts. Zuko was irrelevant; he was after the Avatar. He always had been, but it didn’t matter as much when the Avatar was nothing but a story.

Now, Katara had to protect Aang.

The young boy was asleep in Katara’s room—which used to hold Sokka, too, and her father before then. It was late, but the sleeping Water Tribe and (hopefully) sleeping Fire Nation crew were the only forms they could trust.

“Aang,” Katara whispered. “ _ Aang _ .” She shook him slightly, and Aang murmured something that sounded suspiciously like  _ five more minutes, Gyatso _ . 

“ _ Now _ , Aang!” Katara hissed, and the airbender shot up.

“What?” He said, rubbing at his eyes grumpily.

“We have to go  _ now _ ,” Katara grapped Aang’s arm and pulled him up, “While the Fire Nation ship is asleep.”

“They’re asleep for a reason,” Aang grumbled, but complied, trailing sleepily after Katara as she walked out of the ice hut.

Outside of which stood Gran-Gran, one gray eyebrow raised to Tui. 

“Gran-Gran!” Katara said in surprise. “Uh… we were just…” Katara looked over to the non-existent Sokka for a good excuse, then turned to Aang, who was busy yawning. She looked down at her feet.

“Go get your brother,” Gran-Gran said softly. Katara looked up in shock as her grandmother shoved a bag of supplies into her arms, glanced at Aang, and piled a second bag of supplies on top of the first. “Take the beast,” she said, “if it can actually fly.” She leveled Aang with an incredulous glare. The boy nodded vigorously, the most energy he’d shown all night.

Katara kept an eye on the Fire Nation ship as she clamored onto Appa, but there was still no movement—no sign there was anyone there at all. It was as if Zuko had just appeared with an empty ship to intimidate them. Katara shuddered.

“Appa, yip, yip!” Aang said, then added under his breath, “c’mon, buddy.”

Katara felt the animal rise to his feet.

Then keep rising.

The line between standing up and floating in the air was surprisingly fine, but once the bison cleared the ice hut Aang had slept in, it was clear he had crossed it.

Katara gasped, feeling the wind against her skin as it cut through her parka.

She was flying.

___________________

Lieutenant Jee (fourth watch) saw the shadow of the airbender’s bison pass over him, and looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kanza is Two-Spirit, and i am not Native American, so if there is anything i can do to better write this character please tell me! you can submit an ask (anon is on) or a message via tumblr, or comment although that may take longer for me to see. i am blown away by how many people have already read or left comments so thank you all so much! im writing this with a cat on top of me and it’s very difficult so ill stop here, but have a great rest of your day and happy wintertime! much love


	3. I Don't Wanna Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Drop your weapons, men.”
> 
> “Sir? We don't have any weapons,” the fat man said, frowning.
> 
> “Ah,” the old man considered, “drop your oars, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. it's been. a bit.  
> everyone who has commented, thank you so much!!! your words motivated me to get this done <333 the new semester brought a shit ton of work with it so the update schedule? she's out. no more. perhaps i shall know her again one day. i will be working on this whenever i can because i'm really excited for this story so the updates will hopefully be fairly regular! check my tumblr for updates,,, on the updates,,, :)))

The Fire Nation was approaching.

It was morning—an arbitrary separation of time in the South Pole, where the sun rose and set once a year, respectively, but it was morning in the sense that the children were up and the day had started. The day had started, and the Fire Nation was approaching. 

Katara and the Avatar were gone, which meant the weight of protecting the tribe had been passed to Uki in the form of a spear.

Uki braced Sokka’s spear—her spear now, indefinitely. She’d kept the children and other women inside. Uki was no warrior, but she at least had a weapon: the other women had nothing. The men had taken all they could when they’d gone to fight. They needed it.

The majority of the Southern Water Tribe tucked safely away in their homes, Uki marched forward with all the unearned confidence she could muster—her bare, frigid fingers whitening as they tightened around her weapon—to meet the Fire Nation as they reached the ice. Not for the first time, Uki regretted cutting her hair so short as the wind whipped it around her face, exposing her neck to the cold.

The metal monstrosity was inert, still a good distance from the harbor: the crew was traveling in a wooden rowboat. There appeared to be only three men on board the small vessel—a landing party of sorts. One is an old man, slumped in the corner of the boat, smiling contently as the other two men rowed. At this distance, he could easily be mistaken for a pile of blankets if not for the blinding grin peeking out from a curtain of gray hair. The two men powering the rowboat were near opposites of each other but wore matching expressions. It was almost comical: two men, one thin and wiry, the other large and fat, looking warily ahead as an old man sat back and watched them work.

“Greetings!” the old man called, all smiles, as if he wasn't about to invade her home. “We come in peace.”

_ In peace? Since when had the Fire Nation ever been peaceful? _

Uki stood her ground and said nothing. When the boat hit the ice, she pointed her weapon at the man.

“No, really, we do!” the old man assured, putting his arms in the air. “Drop your weapons, men.”

“Sir? We don't have any weapons,” the fat man said, frowning.

“Ah,” the old man considered, “drop your oars, then?”

The men complied, placing their oars inside the rowboat.

“Why are you here?” Uki said, confused but ultimately choosing to ignore their strange behavior in favor of intimidation. “We have nothing for you.”

“And we want nothing from you,” the old man said. “Well, except shelter, and maybe some food. Ooh, do you have tea?” he asked excitedly, rising from the boat only to be knocked back down by Uki’s spear.

“We have nothing for you,” Uki repeated. “If you want the Avatar, he left last night.”

The old man’s pleasant expression fell for a moment, and his brown eyes widened in concern. As soon as it came, though, the worry left his face and his smile returned.

“We do not want the Avatar—”

“Perhaps we should introduce ourselves,” the thin man interrupted, sending the old man a meaningful look. “I’m Jee, this is Benjiro,” he gestured to the fat man, then turned the man he interrupted, “and this is G—Iroh. I believe his nephew stayed here for a while.”

“Yes,” the old man—Iroh—nodded vigorously, “Zuko.”

“Zuko?” Uki remembered the boy—how could she not? A Fire Nation boy, separated from his uncle in some sort of attack he refused to elaborate on. Not only a Fire Nation boy, but a Fire Nation  _ prince _ , (somewhat) peacefully sharing the same space as the Southern Water Tribe. He’d spent most of his time with Sokka—the two of them had been attached at the hip, once the prince had gotten over himself—and would reluctantly follow the boy to meals and visits to neighbors; it was the only way any adult ever spoke with Zuko. He was an angry child, angstier than Uki remembered being at thirteen, but the bandage eating up half his face offered some explanation. If Uki lost half her face, she would be angry too.

“Zuko,” Iroh confirmed. “He was only here a few days—”

“Months,” Uki corrected. Iroh’s cheerful facade fell once more. “He was here a few months.”

“Ah,” Iroh said, “I see. Well, then you know he’s a fine young man.”

He was a child. That was all he had ever been to Uki, to the rest of the tribe. Fire Prince or not, the gang of mothers could not leave the boy to the elements. It had been three years now, though; Zuko would be a man now. Old enough to fight in the military (he had claimed to be in the Fire Nation navy when he was here, but Uki doubted even the Fire Nation would allow a thirteen-year-old into their forces).

“Uh huh,” Uki said, not really listening at this point. “So  _ you’re _ Uncle? I thought you’d be more… impressive.”

Iroh just laughed, his good-natured grin returning. “It’s good to know my nephew spoke highly of me. Does that mean you’ll lower your spear?”

Uki spared a glance back at her village. The village she had been left to protect—a job entrusted to her by someone half her age. Her daughter was tucked inside, wrapped up in Uki’s old parka, likely straining her short five-year-old body to see out the window. Every other Southern Water Tribe child was inside as well: the future of the tribe, sitting ducks.

“Where is Zuko?” Uki spoke after a moment of contemplation. “Did he make it back to you?” Uki squinted her eyes at the deck of the Fire Nation ship, trying to spot a lone ponytail in the crowd of men gathered there. As far as Uki knew, Zuko had left without a word: one day he was there, the next he was gone. Sokka had refused to speak on it, and the tribe had collectively agreed to move on, sparing an extra prayer to Tui that night to ask that the boy find his way to safety.

“He did,” Iroh said apprehensively, “but—ah—he’s not here now. He’s on that Earth Kingdom ship.”

“Of course he is,” Uki muttered. Whether that was a good or bad thing was moot: Zuko was stronger than Sokka and could protect him, but he was also on the side of the enemy. A lot can change in three years. A lot can break—and Zuko was already cracking. 

But Sokka had been the one to get Zuko to stay, the only one who could get through to the stubborn teenager. If anyone can put him back together, it’s Sokka.

_________________

“Zuko!” Sokka hissed. The prince didn’t move. Sokka groaned. “Zuko, I know you’re awake.”

After another moment of silence, Sokka caved and rose from the bed, walking over to face Zuko and sitting down. He mirrored his meditation position—a familiar one, but his legs strained: it had been a long time since he’d attempted it, and he didn’t have the natural flexibility that came with being twelve anymore. 

Zuko’s eyes were closed and relaxed. He almost looked asleep, but the sparks dancing around his clenched fist gave him away.

“Zuko,” Sokka said, louder this time. Zuko scrunched his nose but remained silent. Sokka poked his bicep, and the thick muscles immediately contracted as Zuko recoiled, his eyes flying open. 

Sokka put his hands up defensively. “Hey, I tried talking!”

“What do you want?” Zuko snarled, rubbing at his arm viciously as if to wipe off any contaminants Sokka may have transferred. It was a bit of an overreaction, considering Sokka had only _ poked _ him. 

They had to focus. They had to make a plan. Zuko hadn’t been any good with planning three years ago; based on his running display yesterday, that didn’t seem to have changed.

“Did you get  _ any _ sleep?” Sokka asked, which wasn’t what he had meant to say, but the boy had a seriously dark circle under his good eye (and possibly his left eye too, but Sokka was hesitant to inspect the burn too much—he doubted Zuko would appreciate that).

Zuko sneered and said nothing.

“Dude,” Sokka said, and Zuko rolled his eyes at the endearment, “you have to sleep. Have you slept at all in the past three years?”

Zuko continued to ignore Sokka, rising from his pretzel-adjacent seated position to stalk over to the opposite end of the room. The whole motion was rather anticlimactic, as the effect of the stalking was limited by the room’s meager floorspace.

“Okay, so I guess we’re not gonna talk about it. That’s fine, but,” Sokka rose to be level with Zuko (well, near-level—in the past three years, Sokka had managed to surpass the prince in height, if only by a couple inches), “Zuko, if we’re getting out of here, we need a plan. Tui knows you could use a strategist.”

Zuko huffed, but didn’t deny it when he spoke. “Fine,” he turned to Sokka, golden eyes piercing, scrutinizing. He’d always taken himself so seriously. “What’s your plan?”

“I never said I had a plan,” Sokka asserted, “just that we need to make one. To start, maybe stop running?”

“Why?” Zuko scowled.

“Well first of all, where are you gonna go?” Sokka gestured to the non-existent window. “We’re surrounded by tundra! And second, they need to  _ trust  _ us. You know, so they let their guard down so we can  _ actually _ escape?”

Zuko didn’t reply, but his scowl morphed into a frown and Sokka counted that as a win. 

“Promise me you won’t run again?” Sokka asked, and Zuko scoffed. “ _ Zuko _ ,” Sokka closed the distance between them to grip Zuko’s shoulders. 

Zuko’s frown fell off his face and his face went entirely blank. He froze under Sokka’s thin fingers, like he had right before Bao had hit him with his ax. It was reminiscent of the early days of his stay in the Southern Water Tribe—not trusting anyone, constantly on edge; even a brush on the arm would render him immobile. That, or send him into attack mode. This guy did not have a “flight”: it was always freeze or fight. At least, until the end.

If he had to start from square one, so be it. Sokka was not going to let Zuko ruin their chances of escape with his impulsive tendencies, and, though he’d be lying if he claimed Zuko’s freeze-mode reaction didn’t sting a little, he knew he could use it to his advantage. Need Zuko to stop running? Hold his hand.

Sokka dropped his hands from Zuko’s shoulders and tried again. “I can get us out of here. But you have to listen to me, Zuko,” he pleaded. “Stop running.”

“ _ Us? _ ” Zuko’s face twisted, his left eye disappearing completely in the folds of his scar. “I don’t need your help,” he spat, as if the very idea of Sokka’s help disgusted him. Free from Sokka’s debilitating shoulder touch, Zuko used his new mobility to shove him away. Sokka had forgotten how infuriating Zuko could be, but his angst-tolerance hadn’t completely reset since Zuko’s departure: he could do this all day. If there were no other factors in play, they probably would.

“Zuko, just don’t do something stupid, okay? For both our sakes.”

Zuko rolled his eyes (or at least the right one—Sokka wasn’t looking at the left, and even if he had been, there’s only so much eye visible). For a moment, Sokka thought he was going to stick his tongue out at him. Instead, he just sighed.

“Fine,” Zuko muttered his concession—and just in time, as the door swung open to reveal Bao’s large frame, bearing a handful of dried fruits. Zuko tensed immediately, getting in and then, with a glance to Sokka, quickly out of running position.

“Breakfast,” Bao stated, offering the fruits up in their direction. Sokka scurried forward to grab some, then all, of the food after realizing Zuko still hadn’t moved. He returned to the boy’s side and shoved some of the food into his arms. Zuko glared daggers but—predictably—said nothing.

“So,” Bao cleared his throat. “Er, um. You,” he pointed at Zuko, whose fingers twitched, “you did basically everything that needed to be done. Down here. Yesterday. So, um, finish up the deck, and then, uh. Kitchen. Help in the—for lunch. And dinner. The boys will—they’ll help you. Hopefully,” he cleared his throat again and looked at the floor for a moment, then back up to Sokka and Zuko, who were watching—mouths slightly ajar—as Bao stumbled through his words. “But eat your breakfast first. Erm. Just, uh. Come up to the deck when you’re done.”

Then the incredible Ax Man promptly spun around, banged his head walking out the door, and hurried off without another word.

Zuko dumped his portion of dried fruit onto the floor and followed Bao—not even bothering to look back at Sokka, who was left to pick up the pieces.

________________

**Three Years Ago**

“You’re only here because Father thinks I’ll miss my brother,” the princess stated matter-a-factly. Yua sat in amazement as she watched Princess Azula work through the katas, doing each with an ease a fellow eleven-year-old should not possess. Her flames licked the branches of the tree next to the turtleduck pond and a leaf caught fire, the blue curling around it until there was nothing left.

“Do you?” Yua asked. “Miss him, I mean.” Her brother had gone away, too: drafted in the war. She didn’t know him well—he was much older, Yua couldn’t even recall his specific age—but she still missed the idea of an older brother. Her parents loved her well enough, but a sibling would have been nice for the loneliness. Although now Yua would never be lonely again, she mused, absentmindedly twisting the stem of a fire lily between her fingers.

“No,” the princess scoffed. She finished her last kata and turned to Yua. “What a stupid question.”

Yua shrugged. “You weren’t close then?”

Instead of responding, the princess just rolled her eyes. “Get up, Father expects me to bring you to dinner.”

Yua rose gracefully, and was surprised to find herself standing a few inches above the princess. She hadn’t imagined such a big personality could fit in such a small frame. The princess didn’t seem to notice, looking instead at the fire lily in Yua’s hand: it had fallen off the stem and into Yua’s hand as she worried at it. It didn’t occur to her that there might be a rule about touching the garden flowers, though it was obvious in hindsight. Such beautiful gardens couldn’t be cultivated if children plucked at them.

“My apologies, Princess Azula. I—”

The princess snatched the flower and threw it into the wind. Like magic, the breeze carried it up, above the palace walls. It almost made it over, too, but a bright blue flash brought it crashing down to lie atop the wall, burnt and ruined. Yua returned her gaze to the princess, whose index finger was smoking.

“Don’t touch the flowers,” the princess commanded. “You’re lucky I was here to dispose of the evidence.”

“Thank you, Princess Azula. It won’t happen again,” Yua assured, but the princess wasn’t listening. She was watching the fire lily as its ashes were gradually blown from the wall until all that was left was a charred half-stem. 

“Let’s go to dinner, Princess Azula,” Yua said gently, and the princess nodded.

“Yes. Come on, we can’t have you be late for your first palace meal.”

Yua had thought firebenders rising with the sun to be an urban legend: having no benders in her immediate family, there was no way to confirm. Does waking with the sun imply sleeping with the sun? That doesn’t leave many hours in the day. What about in the winter, when the sunrise beats even her parents to waking? Surely no child would wake then. 

But Princess Azula did.

Since her arrival at the palace, Yua’s days began with Princess Azula’s: when the sun rose. Yua had since acclimated to early-rising, though it seemed—in her eleven years of being a firebender—the princess had not. She started each day with a ferocity unmatched by any soldier, by any person, but dark circles rested underneath her sunken amber eyes. She pushed through her katas, training for hours on end. She whizzed through each concept, advancing to a level far greater than any of her numerous teachers. She did it all with those dark shadows haunting her eyes, a deep tiredness she didn’t dare show in her work.

The former of Yua’s questions was answered: firebenders do not sleep with the sun. Princess Azula did not sleep much at all. Yua slept in the room adjacent to the princess—she could hear her moving about all night, never settling into sleep. Her restlessness seeped through their shared wall and Yua was saturated in it; her mother had always warned Yua her empathy would prove disadvantageous. Regardless, Yua couldn’t sleep so long as Princess Azula didn’t.

Yua was once again watching the princess run through her katas, as she did every morning and night. (Perhaps it contributed to her insomnia. There was little hope in convincing her to drop that habit, though.) 

They weren’t in the garden anymore, though. They never went back to the garden. 

There many other excellent places for Princess Azula to practice—they frequented them throughout the day. (Yua was always with Princess Azula. The princess never asked her along, but rather strut from place to place with full confidence that Yua would follow. Yua, being her designated companion and otherwise alone in the palace, always followed. Princess Azula was blunt and cruel, but it was difficult to rub Yua the wrong way; she was very agreeable. In fact, the princess was growing on her a bit.) However, today Princess Azula had decided to practice in her room. It was a large room, but still an odd choice when there were so many better alternatives.

Normally, Yua’s attention was held captive by the princess’ fluid movements, but tonight she looked out at the garden. It was her focal point anytime she was in Princess Azula’s room; the near wall-to-wall window was always spotless, so that it appeared Yua could walk right through it. The fire lilies were beginning to ruin that illusion as they crept closer and closer to the barrier between the outside and this room—if they didn’t get trimmed soon, they’d crowd the glass.

“Princess Azula, would you like to join me for some tea before bed?” Yua asked as the princess sat next to her, done for the day. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Princess Azula furrowed her eyebrows. “Why?” Her voice was accusatory, as if not sleeping was indicative of some malicious agenda. Yua shrugged. “You’ve been here a few months,” the princess continued, “you should be acclimated to your new environment by now.”

“I am,” Yua assured, “it’s just that time of year.”

Princess Azula frowned. “Winter,” she deadpanned.

“Yes,” Yua agreed, “winter.”

“Fine,” Princess Azula conceded. “You may have some tea. Come on, Yua, you really needn’t to ask me first,” she teased, “I’m certainly not getting it for you.”

“Of course, Princess Azula,” Yua said as she rose, “I was hoping you would have some as well, though.”

“No,” Princess Azula wrinkled her nose, “absolutely not.”

“Come on,” Yua smiled, nudging Princess Azula—who was still seated—with her toe. “I have special teas from home. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Princess Azula squinted up at Yua, though there was little light for it. She sighed. “I miss when you were scared of me.”

Yua shrugged. She still was.

Having tea made was easy in a palace full to the brim with servants eager to prove their worth—although they tried considerably less hard with Yua than with the royal family. Despite her noble blood, she would always be another servant to them. In a way, she was.

When Yua returned to Princess Azula’s room, tea tray in hand, the curtain was drawn over the window. The princess lay face-up on the bed, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Yua paused at the door.

“Princess Azula?”

Princess Azula sat up. “Yes, that’s me. I’m glad to have finally made your acquaintance after all these months, dear Yua.”

Yua shifted her weight, not moving from the door.

“Come here, dummy,” Princess Azula sighed, waving her over to the bed. Yua walked to its edge and set the tray down on the nightstand. She handed the princess a steaming cup and stood above her with her own.

“Sit down,” Princess Azula commanded. “That’s just creepy, Yua.”

Yua sat on the edge of the bed, being careful to not spill her tea on the royal bedspread. Princess Azula raised her eyebrows.

“Come on, Yua, I’m not drinking your stupid tea unless you do it with me. And ‘with me’ includes sitting next to me, not staring at me from a distance.”

“A distance” was generous, but Yua wasn’t one to argue. Cautiously, as to avoid hot-leaf-juice catastrophe, Yua scooted closer to the princess, so that they sat side by side.

“You first,” Princess Azula said. Yua took a sip of her tea.

It was stronger than she remembered. Immediately, a sense of calm and control washed over Yua. It tasted like home: she could almost imagine she was sitting in bed with her mother and father, drinking sleepy-time tea as they told her stories.

“Yua,” The princess’ sharp voice cut through Yua’s daydream. Yua opened eyes she didn’t remember closing and met Princess Azula’s amber orbs. She almost looked concerned, but that expression was quickly washed away and replaced with one of scrutiny.

“How do you… feel,” the princess said, but her voice didn’t go up to indicate a question. Yua answered anyway.

“Good,” she said. “Sleepy.”

Princess Azula tensed. “Good,” she said. “You’re ready for bed, then?”

“You have to drink, too,” Yua gestured to the cup in Princess Azula’s hands. Princess Azula stared down at the cup, basking in the warm steam it emitted.

“No, I—” the princess’ words came out stilted—very out of character for the eleven-year-old. “I don’t need it.”

“Sleep? We all need sleep, Princess,” Yua said gently.

“Well maybe I don’t want it,” Princess Azula snapped. “Just go back to your room and get your precious sleep, Yua.”

Yua didn’t move. She had come to help, and she wasn’t going to leave until they reached some semblance of a solution, or at least a plan.

“I don’t have to go back,” Yua said, setting her half-finished tea on the nightstand. “I can stay. I’d like to stay,” she corrected.

Princess Azula looked up from her tea, studying Yua’s face. “Well, if you want to,” the princess said, then finally took a sip of her tea before continuing, “I won’t stop you.”

_____________________

**Present Day**

“Stop!” Feng shouted, rushing to tamp out the flames Zuko had been using to cook the melon. Sokka had never heard of grilled melon—he had barely heard of melon at all—but he was fairly sure it wasn’t supposed to be submerged in flames.

After they (“they” was generous, it had primarily been Zuko—Sokka would help more, but no one bothered to teach him anything) had finished cleaning the deck, Bao led the boys below deck to an impressive kitchen. It wasn’t extraordinarily large or sophisticated, but it was much more than Sokka would expect from a boat kitchen. He didn’t even know boats could have kitchens. They had been introduced to the chefs on board: twin brothers Hui and Feng, both of whom were barely taller than Zuko and only distinguishable from each other by their hair (Feng had long hair pulled up in elaborate braids leading into a ponytail; Hui’s hair was cut jaggedly just above his shoulders, half of it pulled up to reveal his face—the one he shared with his brother). They were older than Sokka and Zuko, but still young—maybe in their early twenties. Their youth did not soften the way they ran their kitchen, however—Sokka had a feeling they were not accustomed to sharing it, even if they were still in charge.

“No more firebending for you, kid,” Feng said, after the last of the flames had been eradicated.

“Don’t call me kid,” Zuko spat. Sokka held back a groan, and settled for rolling his eyes. At least he hadn’t run overboard. At least he was still here. 

“Well, you never provided your fucking name, so—”

“Zuko,” Zuko interrupted. Sokka summoned every ounce of willpower to keep his hand by his side, and not slapping his forehead like the moment so desperately called for. “My name is Zuko.”

But Feng seemed unfazed. Maybe Zuko was a common name. Or maybe Feng just didn’t know: Sokka certainly couldn’t name the members of the royal Fire family before he met Zuko. He still couldn’t, beyond Zuko and Azula. “Okay, Zuko, how about this: I won’t call you kid if you don’t burn down my kitchen. We’re on a fucking  _ wooden _ boat, kid.”

“Your fault for putting the firebender on grilling duty,” Hui cut in, grinning at his brother. “Come on, Zuko, you can help Sokka with the salad.”

“You’re giving him a  _ knife _ ?” Feng said, voice cracking at the end, the way Sokka’s pubescent voice did.

Hui considered. “He can do the lettuce,” he decided. Zuko huffed but said nothing, sidling up next to Sokka, who was chopping a carrot. 

“Where do you guys get all this shit?” Sokka asked. Everything they were preparing was fresh, like they weren’t on a boat in the middle of nowhere.

Feng snorted. “We’re pirates. Take a guess.”

“He  _ means _ how does it not rot out here,” Zuko spoke, taking them all by surprise. Zuko didn’t even look up from the leaves he was tearing up, as if speaking up for Sokka was just something he did.

“Yeah,” Sokka said, determined not to make this into something it wasn’t.

“We have Kanza,” Hui supplied. “They’re a waterbender—they freeze the produce. And the meat, too.”

“You guys have  _ meat _ ?” Sokka squeaked. “What are we doing making grilled watermelon?”

Hui put a hand on Sokka’s shoulder. “Patience, Sokka. All in good time.”

“Speaking of,” Feng said, looking up from the blend of spices he was concocting, “Hui, we should probably start on that.”

Hui groaned. “Can you go? The freezer is so far away.” Wordlessly, Feng held out a fist. Sokka isn’t sure what’s going on—is that some kind of threat in the Earth Kingdom? Hui mirrored his twin, and together they moved their fists up and down in three synchronous movements. Both of them turn their fists into a flat palm facing the floor. The boys groaned in annoyance. They repeated this twice with similar results; a glance at Zuko tells Sokka he doesn’t recognize the practice either. The two teenagers were captivated by the scene before them, watching as the young men before them shook their fists in unison.

“Fine,” Hui said finally. “Let’s both go.”

“Can we just leave them alone? With a knife?” Feng asked, eying Sokka and Zuko warily. 

“Where are they gonna go?” Hui stated. “Besides, we have bigger knives in the armory,” he added, giving his brother a reassuring pat on the back. “Be right back!” Hui called over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

Hui practically dragged Feng out of the kitchen, and the ponytailed twin shot Zuko a warning look before disappearing around the corner.

“Give me that,” Zuko commanded, gesturing to the knife in Sokka’s hands. Sokka looked up from his cutting board and furrows his brows indignantly.

“Okay, first of all, they  _ just  _ left. Like, you gave  _ no time _ to make sure they were out of earshot.” Zuko shrugged and gestured to the knife again. “No!” Sokka asserted. “I am not giving you a  _ knife _ ! Tui and La, Zuko, we just talked about this.”

“What?” Zuko said bewilderedly, finally looking up from the knife to glare at Sokka. “No we—” His glare fades as realization hits. “Oh.  _ Oh _ . No, you’re just shit at cutting vegetables. Give me the knife, Sokka.”

Sokka raised his eyebrows. “Still no. And I am  _ not _ shit at cutting vegetables.”

“You’re lacerating them!” Zuko argued. “Just—” Zuko dropped the leaf he had been holding and made a grab for the knife.

“No!” Sokka said, pulling the knife out of reach, eventually settling on holding it above their heads: he may not be much taller, but his lanky arms made it far out of reach for the Fire Prince. “This is a bad idea, Zuko. I am not playing tug-a-war with a  _ knife _ , for spirits’ sake.”

Zuko glared up at him and shot his hand out. Sokka assumed he was going to attempt to reach the knife, so he stretched higher. 

That was his fatal mistake.

Zuko’s hand didn’t move up toward the knife; Zuko’s hand moved forward and made contact with Sokka’s very exposed stomach. Immediately, Sokka folded in half, dropping the knife, and Zuko’s other hand caught it mid-air. Knife in hand, Zuko straightened, hip-checking Sokka and sending him flying across the kitchen. Zuko grinned down at the vegetables laid out on the cutting board now before him, and set to work—chopping at an impressive speed. He looked  _ gleeful _ . Sokka felt himself beginning to smile. 

Sokka picked himself up and took a deep breath before charging at the firebender full-speed. Zuko barely had time to let out an indignant squeak as Sokka latched onto his midsection and brought him toppling to the ground. Sparing not a moment, Sokka snatched the knife from Zuko’s hand and sprang back up. Zuko—predictably—glared, but its effect was diluted by the grin breaking out on his face. Sokka had no doubt his face matched.

Zuko began to rise from the floor, and Sokka took that as his cue to run. He could  _ feel _ Zuko behind him, gaining on him and eventually surpassing him (the kitchen was difficult to navigate, okay?), and then he felt the floor on his face as Zuko’s foot found Sokka’s and sent him crashing down. Sokka let go of the knife and grabbed Zuko’s shirt, bringing the boy down with him. The boys stopped advancing, but the knife had its own ideas, skidding a few yards ahead before stopping.

For a moment, no one moved. Zuko looked at Sokka, laying on his stomach beside him. Sokka looked at Zuko. They nodded.

Zuko moved first—Sokka not a second behind—army-crawling toward their prize. Sokka shoved Zuko, and Zuko shoved back. Once again, Sokka’s long arms came in handy, as he snatched up the knife and held it up triumphantly. Zuko wasn’t far behind, though, and Sokka’s hubris became his downfall: Zuko wasted no time smacking the underside of Sokka’s arm and catching the knife as it flew out of Sokka’s grip.

“Damnit, Zuko!”

Zuko grinned at Sokka, rising with his precious knife and offering Sokka his free hand. “You have to admit, I’m much better with it than you.”

“Fine,” Sokka grumbled, accepting Zuko’s outstretched arm and letting himself be pulled to his feet. “But that’s only because boomerang skills are non-transferable to the kitchen.”

Zuko chuckled, then trailed off as Sokka rose to his full height, and they ended up in a similar position as they were yesterday: mere inches apart. If Sokka was still in gamemode, he would have taken advantage of Zuko’s distracted state and swiped the knife. 

But Sokka wasn’t in gamemode. Sokka was mesmerized. He hadn’t had a chance to really look at Zuko’s face—other than those few blissful moments before he had woken up yesterday. It was familiar—it was Zuko—but it was older. Sharper, if that was possible. His scar blossomed across half of it, faded peach and deep red and every color in between. It spread past his ear, past where his hairline would have been without that stupid ponytail hairstyle. It nearly swallowed his left eye entirely, but a sliver of gold peaked out from beneath his eyelid, just as vibrant as its much more visible counterpart to the right.

Zuko dropped Sokka’s hand. Sokka had forgotten he had been holding it. His hand felt exposed, now. Cold. Empty. Abandoned. Zuko stepped back, returning to the cutting board.

“Come on,” he said, not bothering to look up, “you’re on leaf duty.”

_____________________

“Why should I let you in?” Uki asked, still bracing her spear.

“You let Zuko in,” Iroh offered. Uki was not impressed. Even one of his own men—Jee—rolled his eyes at that.

“Zuko was a child with nowhere to go. No giant fire nation boat to sail away on.  _ Unlike _ you.”

“We can’t sail away,” Jee corrected, earning a glare from Uki. “We ran out of fuel,” he added quickly.

“How are we supposed to help with that?” Uki spat. “We don’t have any resources for you. Your nation already took them all.” Jee scratched his neck awkwardly, and Benjiro looked down with a similar expression: at least the old man’s sidekicks had the decency to look sheepish.

“Oh, my nephew is coming back,” Iroh assured cheerily. “But in the meantime, there is no heat on that ship! My old bones can’t handle the cold.”

“It’s not much warmer here, old man,” Uki said bitterly. 

“What’s going on?” a voice asked from behind Uki. Uki turned to see Kallik standing beside her, and shot her a what-are-you-doing-here look. Kallik ignored her, instead focusing on surveying the scene before her, eyebrows raised to maximum height.

“We would like permission to stay in your lovely village,” Iroh provided, smiling warmly at Kallik. “Just for a little while—we ran out of power on our ship, but my nephew, Zuko, will be back for us in no time.”

“Zuko?  _ The _ Zuko?” Kallik’s eyes widened, and she looked to Uki, who nodded in confirmation. “Oh! Then of course.”

“ _ What _ ?” Uki turned to Kallik. “No, we are not inviting the Fire Nation into our home!”

“It’s not the Fire Nation,” Kallik scoffed, “it’s  _ Uncle _ .” Kallik glanced at the two other men and the boat floating ominously in the distance. “And company. Come on, tea and proverbs! And Zuko would be furious if we didn’t let his uncle in.”

Uki stared blankly at Kallik. “Zuko.  _ Zuko _ would be furious.”

“Yeah,” Kallik nodded, not picking up on Uki’s sarcasm. “He was crazy about the guy. Remember?”

“I remember.” Uki pinched the bridge of her nose. “I just don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Come on, we can’t just leave them to the elements!” Kallik pushed.

Uki sighed. It did feel wrong to leave them there, even if they were technically Fire Nation—but that was just it. They didn’t feel like Fire Nation. Zuko hadn’t felt like Fire Nation, so of course Uki could only look at his crew through that lense of innocence. 

They didn’t feel like Fire Nation, and that was dangerous because they  _ were _ Fire Nation; Uki could not afford to let her guard down. She was responsible for her tribe now—more lives than just hers and her daughter’s. She couldn’t let them down.

On the other hand, it may be smarter to keep her enemies closer. Away from their boat and their weapons, they couldn’t do much harm—however, on their Fire Nation ship that was surely equipped with some kind of firepower that could shoot from a distance? They could do some serious damage there. 

“Okay,” Uki conceded, “here’s what we’re gonna do: no weapons, no armor, no nothing. Bring yourself and some clothes. Everything else stays on the ship.”

“Deal!” Iroh agreed, grinning even wider, if that was possible.

_____________________

**(Present Day)**

“Come train with me, Yua. All the guards working today are shit,” Azula declared, poking Yua awake. Yua wrinkles her nose and nestles into the soft sheets of Azula’s bed. Her dark hair spreads across both pillows, a smooth sheen of black.

“Five more minutes,” Yua said, in that soft tone she never ventured from—no matter how provoked—then added, “Princess.” Azula snorted. Yua has never attempted to refer to Azula as simply Azula, which proves her friend’s intelligence more than any praise from their incompetant tutors.

“No,” Azula decided, throwing off the covers. Yua shivered, but it’s not cold out; it never is. “Time to get up, Yua.”

“Yes, Princess.” Yua sighed and sat up, sliding off the bed to her feet. 

“You’ll thank me later, General Yua,” Azula said, grinning, but Yua doesn’t smile like she normally would at the endearment. Azula’s grin faltered. Perhaps she no longer wishes to be a general? But Yua’s look is one of guilt, not an emotion typically associated with a career change.

“Get dressed,” Azula commanded, filing the information away to decipher later. “I’ll be waiting in the west garden.”

The west garden is on the opposite side of the palace (the east garden being directly outside Azula’s room). It was not as impressive as the east garden once was; it had no fire lilies, and no turtleduck pond. It did have open space, which is all Azula required. 

Yua smiled softly as she approached: whatever had been bothering her this morning had been suppressed, as it should be in the palace. Azula had never been taller than Yua—or even close to it—but in the past three years, Yua had grown to tower over Azula. Azula didn’t mind; if she let height determine power, she would be low on that food chain. Besides, Yua’s head and mane of hair proved to be a great sunblock.

“No bending,” Yua reminded Azula once she’d reached her. 

Azula grinned wickedly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two girls dropped into fighting position. Azula waited patiently for Yua to strike first; Yua hated to strike first. Yua, knowing what Azula was doing, scanned her to find weakness in her stance. A foolish waste of time, when she knew she would find none—but the fighting had to start somehow. Yua kicked out a leg which Azula dodged, and the fight commenced. 

They danced together: Yua advancing as Azula retreated, then Azula advancing as Yua retreated. Eventually, Yua backed Azula into a great oak tree (the prominent feature of the garden). The branches of the tree expanded to a length which nearly matched the height of their base. It was an old tree, one that had never gotten the hang of growing vertically. The great oak’s thick branches worked to Azula’s advantage, though, and she fixated on one as Yua approached to end the fight. It had to be perfect.

She was nearly there. Three more steps. Two more steps. One more step.

Azula shot out her hand and sent a streak of blue lightning at the branch just in front of Yua. It came crashing down in front of the girl, who stood frozen in shock. Azula leapt forward and knocked Yua to the ground, sitting atop her triumphantly. 

“Azula: one. Yua: zero,” Azula declared to the air, and when Yua didn’t reply immediately, she continued, “I know we said no bending, but I hardly think that counts. Either way, rematch!”

Yua remained silent. Azula looked down to see Yua blushing the hardest she’d ever seen, eyes trained on the walkway to inside the palace. Azula followed her gaze to find one Father’s personal servants, waiting patiently with raised eyebrows. Azula rose and brushed off her clothes.

“Yes?” She snapped. “Do you need something?”

“Your father would like to speak with you,” the servant said. 

“Thank you, Atsushi,” Yua said, rising to stand next to Azula.  _ Atsushi? _ Azula had never learned the man’s name.

“Not you,” the servant’s face wrinkled in distaste. 

“Of course,” was Yua’s only reply, smiling as always. Good.

“Come with me, Princess Azula,” the servant said, turning his attention back to Azula.

“I think I can find my way just fine, Asami,” Azula said, brushing past the servant.

“Atsushi,” he corrected. “And—”

“Right,” Azula interrupted, turning to push the door open with her back. Propping it up for a moment, she added, “Asuka. I’ll remember that,” and closed the door.

The walk to the throne room was not long, but it did mean passing by the lineup of previous Fire Lords. Preferring not to be stared down by her ancestors, Azula navigated through various hidden passages she and Zuko discovered when they were kids. It meant a longer journey and later ETA, but Azula was quick in a way she couldn’t afford to be in the open—she would never allow anyone to catch her  _ running _ anywhere. The last passage fed out to the end of the hallway leading to the throne room: Azula peeked out from behind her namesake’s portrait, and, seeing that the hallway was clear, stepped out into it and took a moment to fix her hair. Satisfied, she entered the throne room.

Azula understood the aesthetic of the Fire Throne. She admired it, she wanted it—but none of that excused the blatant impracticality of it all. It looked impressive, but the fact remained it was a windowless room—with no alternative method of air circulation—full of fire in the hottest nation on the planet. Not to mention the massive tapestries that hung mere feet from the gargantuan blaze which were clearly a fire hazard. 

Azula didn’t sweat easily, but too long in this room and she would be drowning. 

“Father,” she called.

“Azula,” the shadow behind the flames responded. Not for the first time, Azula wondered if the figure was a stand-in, someone Father had chosen to put in the line of fire, as it were, so he could avoid what was surely a heat nightmare in the Fire Lord robes. The voice was indisputably Father’s, though, and originating from beyond the fire wall. “How are you finding your new teachers?”

“Slightly more competent than the last,” Azula responded. “With a little more practice, they might just get the hang of it.” Father chuckled at that, and Azula grinned.

“Azula,” Father commanded, and Azula tensed. She hadn’t been summoned to the fire throne to chat about her teachers: a conversation that could easily be had over dinner, and didn’t require Yua’s absence. “I called you here to ensure you aren’t becoming too…  _ attached _ to your companion.”

“Never, Father,” Azula replied automatically, without having fully processed his words yet. Yua? Don’t get too attached to  _ Yua _ ? Azula wasn’t attached to anyone. 

“Good. There’s a reason your brother wasn’t allowed friends. Remember that.”

“Of course, Father.” 

Azula didn’t remember; Azula couldn’t recall a time when Zuko had friends, and certainly couldn’t recall a time he had proved incapable of remaining “unattached.”

It didn’t matter. Azula wasn’t attached. Azula would never be “attached” to another person again. People were useful. Companionship was useful. But it was all temporary, and that was one thing Azula would never forget.

_____________________

The cargo ship was a good sign for multiple reasons.

One, they were on the right track to inhabited territory.

Two, they were pirates, and they were running low on snacks.

“Get everyone up here,” Qiang commanded, eyes trained on their target.

“What about the kids?” Bao asked. 

“Them too. It’ll be great experience,” Qiang said, voice nearly monotone as if he wasn’t suggesting taking their kidnapees off the boat.

“Qiang,” Bao said, “they’re kids.”

“So?” Qiang finally tears his eyes from the cargo ship and looks at Bao. “Taio was a kid. Hui and Feng were kids. Dishi still  _ is _ a kid. Hell, we were all kids. We got them now, might as well put them to use.”

They had all been kids—but none of them had been  _ kidnapped _ . The circumstances couldn’t be helped, though. They were in the middle of nowhere. The boys were their responsibility now, and they were pirates: taking care of children inherently meant training them in the ways of piracy. 

“What about weapons?” Bao pointed out. “We can’t let them go unarmed.”

“Just give them something blunt,” Qiang said, waving him away. “Come on, Bao, they infiltrated  _ our _ ship. They’ll be fine.”

Bao sighed but reluctantly complied. He wasn’t sure how he could convince the Fire Nation boy to do this. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without knowing the Fire Nation boy’s name. Bao lumbered down the narrow stairs, pausing when he heard what was undeniably the sound of laughter from the kitchen. Laughter wasn’t uncommon there, especially with Hui and Feng fooling around—but this didn’t sound like their distinctive cackling.

Bao lightened his walk, slowly stepping toe-heel until he reached the entrance to the kitchen. Inside, Bao bore witness to an extraordinary scene: the Fire Nation boy was  _ smiling _ . Full-on grinning, actually. He was chasing Sokka around the kitchen—and Sokka was grinning, too. 

Spirits, they were just kids. 

Hui and Feng weren’t there, but Bao wasn’t worried about the pair going unsupervised. They weren’t being particularly productive, but they also weren’t destroying the kitchen or digging their way out of the ship with the crew’s mismatched cutlery.

Bao would come back for them later.

Bao found Hui and Feng in Kanza’s room, digging through the freezer. Kanza and Shui were seated beside each other on the bed, looking on with amusement as the twins argued about which type of meat they should use.

Kanza and Shui’s room was the smallest on the ship—smaller even than Sokka’s and the Fire Nation boy’s. It was the price to pay for getting their own room, along with being the storage place for the freezer, which was both because there was no room in the kitchen and because Kanza could ensure the ice did not melt—a valid concern when they were closer to the equator. Out here, not so much.

“ _ Watermelon _ is the main course, Hui!” Feng exclaimed, emphatically gesticulating at the air. “The meat should be something  _ small _ and  _ light _ .”

“Aw, but you saw how excited that kid was at the prospect of meat!” Hui pouted. “And the grilled watermelon was your idea. Shit’s weird.”

“I saw it in a cooking show in the Earth Kingdom once,” Feng defended. “It’s a real thing.”

“I know, I was there, idiot.”

“Hey,” Bao interrupted before the bickering could escalate. “Go time.”

“No shit? This far out?” Hui said, but he was grinning—the sibling dispute quickly forgotten.

“Good,” Feng said before Bao could respond. “We need a refill.”

“Noted,” Bao nodded, “we’ll keep an eye out. Kanza, Shui, let’s go.”

Kanza grinned and leapt up, rushing off to the weapons closet: they always jumped at the chance to bring out the machete, even if they never got to use it. Being the resident waterbender, Kanza was tasked with controlling the waves so the boats wouldn’t drift apart while the crew was separated. 

Shui got up at a more reasonable speed, pausing first to put an arm on Feng’s shoulder.

“I’m looking forward to the grilled watermelon,” he assured. “It sounds delicious.” Hui rolled his eyes but didn’t comment as Shui left to follow his partner. 

“You two got this?” Bao asked the twins. “I think everyone else is going.”

“Even the kids?” Feng asked in disbelief. Bao shrugged.

“Okay, man,” Hui responded, incredulous expression mirroring his brother’s. “Yeah, of course we’ll hold down the fort.”

Bao nodded. Lowering his voice—as though the boy would be able to hear it—Bao leaned in conspiratorially, “Do either of you know the other boy’s name?”

“Scar-face?” Hui asked.

“ _ That’s _ his name?” Bao furrowed his eyebrows.

“No,” Feng rolled his eyes, “his name is Zuko.”

“Oh,” Bao said. “That makes more sense.” He nodded again, “carry on,” and went off to fetch the boys in question. 

The air in the kitchen had shifted. Gone was the laughter, replaced by rhythmic chopping which bounced off the wooden walls. The Fire Nation boy—Zuko—was wielding a knife and cutting vegetables with militaristic precision. Sokka stood beside him, throwing the perfectly even slices into a bowl with some lettuce strips.

“Boys,” Bao called from the entrance. “You’re needed upstairs.”

Sokka startled at the sudden noise, then pouted when he saw who it was. “We just washed the deck, Bao,” Sokka whined.

“And you—well, Zuko did a great job.” Zuko looked up at the sound of his name, but said nothing, choosing instead to fix Bao with an ominous stare which was made all the more effective by the knife in his hand. Sokka looked indignant but didn’t argue.

“What do you want from us, then?” Zuko asked levelly.

“We’re pirates,” Bao said.

“You guys say that a lot,” Sokka pointed out. “Hate to break it to you, but that actually explains nothing.”

“We need more supplies,” Bao tried instead. “There’s a cargo ship closeby.”

Sokka’s face broke out into a grin. “Wait, so you’re saying… We’re gonna raid the ship!” Sokka exclaimed, then added, “yes!” under his breath.

“What about weapons?” Zuko asked, setting down the knife but somehow maintaining the same level of intimidation with the carrot in his other hand.

“You’ll get weapons,” Bao assured. “Captain’s orders.”

“I need my dao swords,” Zuko said, absentmindedly shifting the carrot in his grip to a more… stabby position.

“I don’t know about that,” Bao admits.

“I need my dao swords,” Zuko repeats. “I won’t do it without them.”

“ _ Zuko _ ,” Sokka hisses, then turns to Bao. “He’ll do it. It’s cool.”

“No,” Zuko corrects. “I get my dao swords or I don’t go.”

Bao shifts uncomfortably. 

It’s not like there is anywhere he could go. It should be fine. Besides, the boy couldn’t take on the whole crew at once.

“Okay,” Bao caves, “you can have your swords. But be smart, okay?”

Zuko nods and finally,  _ finally _ sets down the carrot, walking out of the room and brushing past Bao like he already knows where to go. Sokka practically skips behind him, pausing when he reaches Bao.

“Does this mean I get my boomerang?”

______________________

**Three Years Ago**

Sokka woke up cold.

Instinctively, he rolled to the other side of the bed. Instead of his personal heater, though, Sokka was met with empty space. Sokka groaned and gathered the blankets around him: he would not be robbed of his sleep. He lay perfectly still and counted his breaths, just like his mother had taught him.

It was fruitless. He had grown accustomed to the warm presence radiating beside him. Twelve years of building on the cold tolerance in his blood only to be brought back to square one by sharing a bed with a firebender.

Sokka sighed dramatically, for the benefit of the empty room. Slowly, he dragged himself up; if he can’t be cold and asleep, he might as well be warm and awake. Tui only knows where Zuko had gone off to without him—certainly not to talk with any other tribe members. 

Exiting his room, Sokka discovered it wasn’t even morning yet. The village was absolutely silent, and the sun shined on untread snow. 

Well, mostly untread snow: a set of footprints marred the pristine vision. Sokka grinned.

There was only one person who didn’t wear shoes in the South Pole.

Sokka followed the footprints to the outskirts of the village, where he found him. Hidden behind a large snowbank, the prince was twirling two curved blades in synchronicity. They shimmered in the sun as Zuko sliced them through the air. It was beautiful.

Zuko’s face was scrunched in determination, presumably accounting for the cloth that covered half of it. The display was incredibly impressive—at least until he fell.

“ _ Fuck _ !” Zuko hissed, and Sokka filed that cuss word away for later. The women of the village refused to teach him any, no matter how much Sokka insisted they were vital to his growth as a man. Zuko, on the other hand—a well-seasoned sailor—had plenty to share.

“What are you doing? It’s not even morning yet,” Sokka said, making his presence known. Zuko scrambled to his feet and turned to face him.

“How do you know?” he spat. “Agni is always awake here.”

Sokka wasn’t sure what that meant, so he opted to ignore it.

“What are you doing?” he asked again. Zuko glared.

“I  _ was _ training. But I can’t see anything with this  _ fucking _ —” Zuko huffed, smoke curling out from his nose.

_ You can take the bandage off _ , Sokka wants to say.  _ It’s just me. _

But he doesn’t know what’s under that bandage. He doesn’t know if it would even make a difference.

He does know Zuko wouldn’t do it, either way.

So instead, Sokka said, “You just have to isolate that side.” Zuko looks up in surprise, like he hadn’t expected actual advice. Sokka continues before he can lose his nerve. “When I was little, I couldn’t get this one letter of the alphabet. No matter how much practice I got, that one letter always looked wrong.” Zuko raises his eyebrow and the frustration emitting from him is palpable. Sokka hurries to finish. “My dad told me to isolate that letter. You know, just write it over and over again. It worked.” Sokka then amended: “Mostly. My handwriting isn’t very good, but at least it’s consistent.” 

“What does that have anything to do with me?” Zuko snapped. Sokka raised his eyebrows and Zuko deflated. “Continue,” he sighed reluctantly.

“My point,” Sokka said, “is that maybe you just need to train that side on its own.”

Zuko looked at Sokka quizzically, which was a step up from angrily. “What do you mean?”

Sokka grinned and held out a hand. “Well, you have two swords, don’t you?”

___________________

**Present Day**

Zuko couldn’t claim any qualms with stealing—not after so many nights as the Blue Spirit. He had been vigilante-adjacent, though: stealing from the privileged and giving to the needy, while swiping a few things for himself in the process. This didn’t feel vigilante-adjacent, but it was necessary. 

Wielding both of his swords, Zuko felt like he could breathe again. 

Sokka kept looking at them as if he was looking at a ghost. For him, it was: this must have been the first time he had really seen the dao since Zuko had left.

Zuko ignored him.

They were all gathered on the deck. The Qiang was going over some sort of game plan Zuko wasn’t paying attention to. Instead, he was studying the crew: it looked like everyone was here besides Hui and Feng. That’s what he’d heard Bao say, anyway.

Zuko recognized most of them. Bao, of course, who was comically large standing next to the Fire Nation man from yesterday—Lim, whose height was unmatched but was extraordinarily thin, as if someone had stretched him out. The man who had been wearing women’s clothes and a painted face—who now still was, although the women’s clothes were slightly more mobile, a wise choice on a piracy excursion. The sizable golden hoops hanging from his ears, on the other hand, did not seem as practical. Qiang, who wasn’t the tallest or the buffest, but commanded his crew’s attention all the same. Zuko was familiar with such a mentality: Azula had been shorter than him, and obeyed by nearly all. The fourth man who had been on deck when Zuko ran was present as well, standing at the helm and guiding their ship—the  _ Wangjile _ —to the cargo ship in the distance. His bare head shone in Agni’s light, as well as the numerous earrings he sported. Beside him stood a person with the thickest arms Zuko had ever seen. Tattoos of swirling blues danced across them, with the occasional word intertwined. Zuko couldn’t read them from a distance, but he recognized the writing as the Northern Water Tribe’s written language—the one the South had adopted as well. Zuko guessed that they must be the waterbender, Kanza.

And of course the boy who stood next to Zuko, staring at him with unabashed curiosity. He looked a little older than Zuko, but his grin was indicative of a much higher level of youth. His hair was entirely pulled back in a perfectly-shaped low bun, save for two thin braids framing his face.

“Sick swords,” he whispered to Zuko. “I’m Dishi.”

Zuko nodded, but said nothing.

“You’re Zuko, right?” When Zuko didn’t reply, Dishi continued, “I mean, you must be. Unless he’s Zuko,” Dishi gestured at Sokka, who was standing next to Bao, “which is cool! But seems unlikely. You don’t look like a Sokka.”

Zuko snorted, then, seeing Dishi’s face light up, immediately regretted it. Dishi continued with newfound confidence.

“You’re a Fire Nation soldier, right? You know, Lim is from the Fire Nation. Well, not really, but he was born there!” Dishi was silent for a moment. Zuko almost thought he was done talking, but he should have known better: Zuko wasn’t that lucky. “No one else is from the Fire Nation. I guess no one’s really from anywhere on here, because we just sail around, you know?” Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. Dishi didn’t get the message. “I’m from the Earth Kingdom—”

“I’m trying to pay attention,” Zuko lied, nodding towards Qiang. 

Dishi nodded vigorously. “Right. Of course. My bad.”

“Any questions?” Qiang called. When no one spoke up, he nodded. “Alright, well, you guys know the drill. Let’s go.”

The boat stopped abruptly, sidled up next to the target. Zuko looked around in surprise and saw Kanza standing with both their arms out, face scrunched in concentration. Zuko recalled Katara having a similar expression when she waterbent. Without wasting any time, the pirate crew (save Kanza and Hui and Feng, who must have been below deck) began boarding the adjacent ship. 

“Can you believe they put us on collecting duty?” Sokka’s voice startled Zuko; he’d walked up on his left. Blessedly, he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. “I want to kick ass! Take names!” Sokka put his hands out, gesturing as if he was referencing a large sign reading  _ Kick ass, take names _ . 

“Can’t kick ass from here,” Zuko pointed out. 

He ran after the rest of the crew, not bothering to judge the distance between the ships before vaulting from one to the other. He didn’t even look at the deck of the other ship, trusting his instincts to guide him. He ended up overshooting by a considerable length, landing him in the middle of the deck, sandwiched by stacks of boxes. Any further to the left or right, and he would have slammed into them. 

Zuko had barely a moment to stand and recover from the jump before he was crushed by a tangle of limbs.

“Sorry!” Sokka’s face called from somewhere in the pile. Zuko grumbled and pushed the other boy off of him. 

Zuko hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what exactly “collecting duty” entailed, but it seemed fairly intuitive. Zuko stood, eyeing the  _ Wangjile _ warily, in case any pirate stragglers decided to take the leap. Satisfied, he began reading the labels of the boxes surrounding them, on the lookout for something useful.

_ Fire flakes _

_ Fire flakes _

_ Fire flakes _

Zuko and Sokka were surrounded by boxes of fire flakes. Arguably one of the least useful goods a pirate could encounter.

They were probably no good. After all, there was no way they would be fresh; Zuko hadn’t even known fire flakes could be imported. Whatever packing peanut-adjacent snack these boxes contained, they could in no way compare to the fresh fire flakes Zuko used to share with Azula, back when Mom would take them to the theater. 

Zuko knew that.

Zuko also knew he was going to take these fire flakes.

“What’s it say?” Sokka asked, squinting over Zuko’s shoulder at the label as if that would help him to decipher the foreign language. It was written in Fire Nation, which Sokka had never had the resources to learn. Zuko remembered leaving him little messages in his native language, and how Sokka had agonized over the meaning when all he’d written was “turtleduck” or something equally inconsequential.

They weren’t all inconsequential, though.

“They’re fire flakes,” Zuko answered. 

Sokka looked at him, studying. Zuko stared resolutely forward, determined to keep his face clear of emotion.

But Sokka already knew. That was the cost of meeting someone as a thirteen-year-old: he hadn’t yet learned the price of being vulnerable, though it had been taught over and over.

“Well, I gotta try these,” Sokka said finally, reaching over Zuko to take down the top box, because Zuko had forgotten that Sokka also knew how to gauge exactly what he needed.

The box was apparently heavier than Sokka anticipated, because he dropped it on the deck with a resounding  _ bang _ .

Time stopped. Zuko froze. Sokka froze. They looked at each other, wide-eyed and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Just when it was beginning to look like the proverbial shoe was going to stay on the proverbial foot, a voice came into earshot—getting louder by the second.

“I think it came from over here, by the fire flakes.”

“Do you think that’s the last of them?”

“Fuck if I know.”

A woman in Fire Nation garb appeared from around the corner. “Found ‘em,” she called, drawing a sword from her belt. “Step away from the fire flakes. You two are coming with me.”

____________________

Sokka stepped away from the fire flakes and put his hands up. He smiled his charming Sokka smile at Sword Woman—and the other woman who rounded the corner to join her, wielding a swear (and thus dubbed “Spear Woman” by the incredible nomenclator Sokka)—and began to formulate a plan.

‘The last of them’ implied they had captured at least some, if not all, of the pirate crew aboard. If they could be taken to them, they might have a better chance of overtaking the crew of this ship. Strength in numbers and all that. If they ran, they could probably make it back to their ship; Sokka doubted they would be expected to save the rest of the crew. Hui, Feng, and the waterbender could do it.

Lost in strategizing, Sokka had failed to notice that Zuko had not stepped away from the fire flakes. In fact, Zuko seemed to have moved  _ closer _ to the fire flakes, his dao drawn. 

He was protecting the fire flakes. Tui and La, he was going to get himself killed over a case of fire flakes.

Sokka sighed and dropped his hands. He stepped forward to stand next to Zuko and unsheathed his boomerang.

“If you want the fire flakes, you’re gonna have to go through us,” Sokka threatened. The Sword Woman snorted; Sokka threw his boomerang at her.

She ducked under it, the blade just brushing the top of her head. “Well, that was anticlimactic,” Sword Woman said, rising to full height again. Just in time for the boomerang to come back around and whack her in the back of the head.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, and her companion charged forward, only to be met with Zuko’s blades.

Sokka didn’t have to interfere much beyond that point.

Zuko was ruthless, fighting as if it were his honor in that box and not a festival snack. In no time, he had knocked out Spear Woman with the handle of one of his dao.

“I need some backup here!” Sword Woman called, hand still cradling where the boomerang had hit as she repeatedly checked for blood that wasn’t there. While she was distracted scrutinizing her palm for blood residue, Zuko brought his elbow down over her head with a force that caused the woman to crumple to the ground. Right in front of three other guards who had responded to her cry for backup.

Sokka stood in shock as, one by one, Zuko disposed of every guard (in similar fashion to the first two: by knocking them out—the most notable being when he kicked a tower of boxes over onto an unsuspecting guard). Distantly, Sokka wondered if he should be helping. He wasn’t sure how he could. He was sure that Zuko didn’t need it.

Eventually, the stream of guards ended, and Zuko and Sokka were the only two left standing. Zuko’s chest rose and fell drastically as he caught his breath. Sokka stared.

Zuko headed over to Sokka, ignoring the other boy’s look of absolute disbelief in favor of the box of fire flakes behind him. He hefted the box up with a grunt, but much more ease than Sokka and his noodle arms had. Hugging the box to his chest, he squinted at their mother ship before them.

“How the hell are we gonna get these over there?” 

Sokka considered this. They couldn’t exactly  _ jump _ . 

“We’re not leaving without them,” Zuko declared, to which Sokka nodded in agreement.

“No, we’re not.” He placed a tentative hand on Zuko’s shoulder. The firebender tensed for a moment before relaxing into the touch. “Let’s find the others first.” Reluctantly, Zuko nodded and set down the box—with much more care than Sokka had.

They ran into the youngest one first. He did not appear to be captured—those guards must have missed him. He was sorting through a box of—was that  _ more watermelon _ ? When were they going to get real meat around here?

“Dishi,” Zuko hissed, and how  _ Zuko _ knew the guy’s name and Sokka didn’t was a mystery and, frankly, an embarrassment to Sokka.

Dishi lifted his head from the melons, and his face lit up. “Zuko! Or Sokka. We never really cleared that up.”

“I’m Zuko,” Sokka clarified. Zuko rolled his eyes but didn’t bother correcting him.

“Oh! Sorry. Nice to meet you, Zuko, I’m—”

“Dishi!” Zuko interrupted. “Where are the others?”

Dishi shrugged. Zuko groaned. “Okay, well, leave the watermelon, Dishi. We have to go find them.”

“Why?” Dishi asked, though he had already abandoned his fruits and was following Zuko as he stalked through the rows of boxes. Sokka waited for Zuko to explain, then stepped in when he remained silent. 

“We had a run-in with some guards. Or, well, Z—Sokka had a run-in with some guards.”

“Ooo,” Dishi said, “did you use your swords?”

Zuko glanced back at Sokka, giving him a  _ what-the-fuck-is-this-guy’s-deal _ look before facing forward. Sokka was so surprised at the comradery, he didn’t have a chance to shoot back a  _ for-real-but-also-don’t-hurt-him-remember _ .

“No,” Zuko replied, and Sokka startled before realizing Zuko had been answering Dishi’s question. “I, Sokka, did not use my weapon,” and Sokka doesn’t have to see Zuko’s face to know he’s grinning.

“Really?” Sokka muses. “I’m pretty sure you did use it, and I’m pretty sure it kicked ass.”

“Well did it take names?”

“One or two.”

“Mm, more like one half.”

“Touche.”

“Bao!” Dishi exclaimed, cutting off Sokka and Zuko’s banter as he ran towards Bao and the four other men that ventured onto the cargo ship. They were each tied to a box, but there weren’t any guards in sight. Wordlessly, Zuko and Sokka set to work cutting the ropes. 

“Hey, Dishi!” Bao grinned, unfazed by his current predicament. Maybe being captured was just another Tuesday in the life of a pirate. 

“Thank you,” Qiang said as Sokka freed him from a box of moon peach preserves. “Do you know where the guards are?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about the guards,” Sokka grinned. “Right now, we have a different priority.”

_____________________

Transporting the fire flakes was no issue: Kanza brought the ships even closer together for the men to carry the boxes from one ship to the other. Bao could not, for the life of him, understand how a couple boxes of fair food could motivate someone to take down an entire unit of guards. Nostalgia can present in strange ways, he supposed. Either way, the fact remained: that kid had skills. Bao said as much to Qiang, when night had fallen and the boys had been brought down to their room—the rest of the crew finding their way to their own as the exertion of the day caught up to them.

“I know,” Qiang chuckled. “Fuck.”

Bao hummed in agreement.

He thought of that same boy, running around in the kitchen, grinning and laughing like someone his age was supposed to.

“It may be beneficial,” Bao began carefully, “to have him train the other one.”

Qiang raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

“You saw how effective the kid is,” Bao continued. “Imagine if there were two of them.”

“You want me to give them  _ both _ pointy objects for the purpose of their improvement of handling said  _ pointy  _ objects?”

“I thought you wanted them to be acclimated to piracy.”

Qiang pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I do  _ not _ want them to turn on us with pointy objects. That  _ we _ gave them.” Qiang cracked one eye to look at Bao. “If you really want two, why not have him help one of the kids?”   
“He won’t do it,” Bao insisted. “He’s stubborn. But he likes the other boy.”

“He’s stubborn,” Qiang repeated. “But he likes the other boy.” Qiang sighed and dropped his hand. “Spirits, Bao they’ve been here a couple days. You don’t know these kids.”

Bao was silent for a moment. Qiang was right: he didn’t know them, but it was his fault they were here.

“Give them the wooden swords,” Bao pressed. “They can’t do anything with that.”

“Why do you want this, Bao?” Qiang asked. “What do any of us really have to gain? They could turn on us so easily.”

“Qiang,” Bao said softly, opting to look at the waved churning below them rather than his captain. “They’re just kids.”

___________________

The Avatar was supposed to be here.

Zuko would be back for them anyway, of course: of that Iroh could be sure. Zuko coming back wasn’t the issue. The Avatar had to be here, because Zuko wasn’t here. 

Zuko was out there, in the world. 

Zuko had been captured by an Earth Kingdom ship. The Earth Kingdom  _ navy _ .

The Avatar was supposed to be  _ here _ , with no chance of running into his nephew. The Avatar was supposed to be so far from Zuko’s mind he could experience, and  _ understand _ , the world free of his burden for a moment, even if he had to shoulder a new one. 

And now he had just left his nephew to the wolves, a decision made between sips of tea that caught in his throat when he’d realized what he must do.

Iroh prayed the Avatar would never reach that ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! i love each and every one of you

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> [check out my tumblr for info on updates, my attempt at drawing, or if you have any questions :)](https://sokkattome.tumblr.com/)  
> [Inspired by this good good pirate art](https://sifuhotman69.tumblr.com/post/626378333283811328/fuck-it-gay-pirate-zukka/)  
> [Influenced by The Art of Burning by hella 1975](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736617/chapters/62496421/)  
> Title from the song Happiness is Not a Place by The Wind and The Wave  
> Comments and tumblr asks make my day :]]]  
> If there are any grammar/spelling mistakes, need to be trigger warnings for something, or anything of that nature, please tell me! :)


End file.
